Markel had been right as it turned out, Lucius had not been kept on the team for long. A week later, Ambrose announced he was to be taken to the guildhouse of the Night Hands. Thus would start his true induction into the organisation.
He had not been sure quite what to expect of a thieves' headquarters. Something in the sewers, perhaps, accessible only by secret passageways and coded knocks, backed up by the password of the day. Maybe a rundown and dilapidated structure in the poorest quarter of the city, dismissed by passing guard patrols, and yet readily turned into a defensible fort when assaulted, with assassins and marksmen sniping from windows. Or it could be palatial, hiding behind the guise of some noble's holdings and filled with the proceeds of years of thieving, decked in gold and silver, with rare objects d'art scattered in every room in the most vulgar fashion.
It was none of those things. From the outside, the town house looked like every other in the aptly named Rogue's Way. The street had earned its title decades ago from a scandalous merchant who managed to rob several nobles blind before he was discovered and deported back to Pontaine. The house itself was a three storey structure with large bay windows protected from prying eyes by thick curtains and thicker shutters.
The front door appeared solid enough, but it was not until Lucius was permitted entry that he realised its heavy oak exterior was supported inside by metal bands and finely-crafted locks, and he guessed it would take at least a squad of guardsmen armed with a battering ram to break it down.
A short hallway led into a common room, which looked for all the world like that of a tavern. A bar was situated on the far side of the room, while tables were scattered about randomly, their occupants engaged in games of dice and cards, drinking or huddled together while whispering in conspiratorial tones. The furniture had certainly seen better days than that usually found in taverns, as it seemed thieves had better respect for their surroundings, but it was not of unusually high quality. No rare paintings adorned the wall, no golden sculptures graced the bar.
The rest of the ground floor was taken up by the kitchens, a couple of small store rooms (which held essential supplies, and were never used for hiding stolen goods), and several sleeping areas which were shared by guild members. Ambrose informed him that he was free to make use of them, and Lucius accepted, glad to be free of the financial burden his continued stay at an inn in the merchant quarter had imposed. Not that he could not afford it now, but why waste good coin when a perfectly good bed was available here? Rooms were not granted to individuals but instead shared by whoever was in the guildhouse at the time. There was little fear of having one's personal items go missing here, Ambrose informed him, as thieving from another member of the guild was grounds for immediate expulsion. As Lucius would find out, once granted membership, very few chose to voluntarily leave, as the perks were just too good. Access to the guildhouse, which was regarded as a safe bolt-hole for those running from the guard or an angry merchant, was really the least of these. Now he had been granted full membership, Lucius was considered to be on the payroll.
Money was still earned on a commission basis, based upon the success of individual operations, but there was plenty of work to be had in a city the size of Turnitia. Over the course of the next few days, Ambrose introduced Lucius to several thieves, most of whom agreed to take him on their next few missions.
The work was varied and Lucius was surprised to learn that the Night Hands were frighteningly well organised, operating with a professionalism he would not have believed possible among thieves. Though many of the more successful thieves planned their own operations, staking out likely targets, then gathering fellow members to make a hit on a warehouse or rich noble's townhouse, there was also a great deal of regular day-to-day work the guild needed completed in order to run efficiently. The pickpocket teams in the Five Markets were just the tip of this. There were confidence scams down on the docks, protection rackets run on shop owners and innkeepers, a growing prostitution ring that was quickly adapting to serve all tastes while keeping the women (and a not a few men) safe from both their clients and the occasional invasion by the Guild of Coin and Enterprise.
Ambrose arranged for Lucius to attend one of the weekly collections along the Street of Dogs, which was regarded by the thieves he spoke to as a lucrative business. Once you had the muscle, he discovered, protection rackets were among the simplest and yet most profitable ventures the guild invested its time in. It really just boiled down to standing behind the man collecting the money, looking menacing. None of the traders in the Street of Dogs put up any resistance, while some seemed almost grateful. After all, the racket worked both ways; if they experienced any trouble that could not be resolved with the intervention of the guard, they always had the Night Hands to call upon. This could range from tracking down vandals hired by a rival, to 'persuading' a money lender that his rates were too high.
However, Lucius earned less from his time on protection than he did from pick-pocketing and when he raised this with Ambrose, he was told the work was simply a way of him gaining experience in what the guild did each day, and his place had been obtained as a personal favour to Ambrose himself. Such operations, he learned, were treated as a franchise. One thief, a few years ago, had gathered a group of friends together and started the racket. The Night Hands took its usual percentage, and the rest was split between the thieves doing the work. When the first thief died or otherwise left the guild, control of the racket was passed on to one of his colleagues, who then would decide whether to bring more thieves into the enterprise and expand, or simply keep the current profits rolling in. It was very clear that such operations were run only by the most senior thieves, as they were also the most lucrative; the hard work in setting up the operation had already been done and, bar the occasional upset and non-paying shop owner, the money rolled in continually, week after week. Positions in such rackets were therefore highly prized, and to gain entry you either had to buy your way in, or be extremely good friends with a current franchise holder.
This system ran throughout the Night Hands, and Lucius began to realise that Ambrose was one such senior thief, with his franchise being the teams working the Five Markets. He could not help but smile to himself when he realised that despite all the money he had earned during his time there, he had likely been earning Ambrose a good deal more.
Lucius still felt he was being watched and weighed, with the other thieves gauging whether he could truly be trusted, but he was fine with that. Any business that brought in as much money as he suspected the Night Hands had access to was aided by continual suspicion, not hindered by it. So, he spent his time in the guildhouse common room making easy conversation with visiting thieves, taking up any offer of work, and slowly making his presence felt. The work at his low level was fairly easy, the earnings fair, and expenses non-existent. Even food and wine was free here, so long as no thief over-indulged. A quick mission to break into the apartment of a visiting merchant here, a scam to grab a precious cargo as it was unloaded from a wagon train there. And all the time, the money kept flowing in, at a steadily greater rate of coin.
Fundamentally, the Night Hands were no different to any other sort of business. It was just the nature of the work it specialised in that set the guild apart and on the wrong side of the law.
A fortnight passed, and Lucius began to consider setting up his own operation. He had little experience, but Ambrose promised support and, indeed, seemed pleased that his protege was beginning to bear fruit. After a day spent aiding another thief — an Allantian born man of slight build — in timing guard patrols round a warehouse that was rumoured to hold spices from the Sarcre Islands, Lucius returned to the guildhouse. The common room was almost empty, and the few remaining thieves present informed him that the guildmaster, Magnus, had cajoled many of them to take part in an operation outside the city, though none offered any further details. The atmosphere was easy, and Lucius joined a group throwing dice, though they seemed more intent on discussing women they had recently bedded than the game itself.
A loud crash as the front door of the guildhouse was slammed shut froze their conversation, and angry voices from the hall had them all looking up in curiosity.
"Bastard!"
The man, swearing, blazed into the common room like a comet. He was tall and lithe, cloaked in black, with dark hair and a well-trimmed beard. A leather hauberk clad his chest, but Lucius was drawn to his eyes, which were fired with anger.
Two other men followed him, looking a little uncomfortable with their proximity to such fury. Lucius recognised them as thieves who had been keeping to themselves in the common room over the past few days.
"What's up, Caradoc?" asked one of Lucius' companions, and for the first time he realised that this was Caradoc Grey, the lieutenant of the Night Hands and second in power only to Guildmaster Magnus.
"That bastard Brink, he's only gone and declared for the Guild," Caradoc fumed.
"Eh?"
"Told these two, bold as brass," he said, indicating the men behind him with a sweeping arm. "Said he didn't need our protection when those Coin and Enterprise bastards were gaining so much power in the city. And he's hired mercenaries to back him up."
"What are you going to do?" asked another one of the thieves at Lucius' table.
"Teach him a valuable lesson in manners, that's what. And we're going to do it this evening. Now. You lot, come with us." So saying, Caradoc swept back out the door, leaving the common room stunned until one thief sighed and stood, giving the rest the cue to follow suit.
Lucius saw the others reach for knives and blades, and he put a hand to the small of his back to make sure his own sword was present. As they filed out, he touched another man on the arm who was winding a length of rope around his body.
"Who is this Brink?" he asked.
The man, who Lucius knew only as Hawk, gave him a grim look. "Hieronymus Brink, a money lender on the Street of Dogs. If the Guild is moving in on our territory there, they are stronger than we thought. This is a direct challenge, and they are forcing Caradoc to take action or watch his income drain away into nothing. Today it is just the money lender — if we do nothing, the merchants and shopkeepers will start to go over as well."
As they walked up the hill to the northern edge of Turnitia, Caradoc whispered sharp instructions to his men. In all, they numbered eight, which the lieutenant clearly felt enough to threaten the money lender. He told them that the goal was to scare the living daylights out of the man, to make sure he did not even think of switching allegiance. By striking at him in his own home, they were sending a message that the Night Hands could reach anyone anywhere, that there was no safety within the city's bounds. They were to employ all stealth to gain access to his house, track him down — his family too if he had any — and then leave them to Caradoc.
"And at all costs," Caradoc continued without missing a step, "avoid his mercenaries. They will be well armed and will know how to use a sword. You don't want to get into a running battle with the likes of them, so quiet is the key. With any luck they will be unprepared or even asleep at their posts. They won't be expecting us to do this, so the advantage is ours."
Lucius was less sure of this pronouncement, and he did not relish the thought of locking blades with trained killers.
The northern part of the city was quiet as they marched determinedly to the money lender's home, though the continual bass rumble of the sea breaking against the cliffs mixed with the raucous sounds of revellers in the taverns and inns further down the hill. One thief ranged ahead of them, diverting the group down side streets and alleys whenever he saw a guard patrol, for Caradoc did not want to be distracted by a confrontation with the law, particularly when his men were armed.
As they continued east, the houses grew steadily larger, more opulent, and further apart. The area reminded Lucius much of his old home, and it crossed his mind that he had not visited its grounds since he had come back to Turnitia. He knew the mob had burned the place after killing his father, but he had tried hard to forget the details of that night. He remembered being almost petrified with fear as he heard his parent's cries from his hiding place in the cellar, how his sister had clung to him painfully. The sounds of strangers rampaging through his home, the smell of burning, a hazy memory of bolting through the garden and streets, driven on by nothing but terror. The utter sense of loss when he returned the next morning to find little more than smoking ruins.
The money lender's house was similar to how Lucius remembered his own home, though it seemed smaller. The tall walls adorned with iron spikes looked more formidable though, and Caradoc drew back his men when they saw two mercenaries standing guard outside the main gate.
"We go in pairs," Caradoc whispered as he crouched down with his men around him. "Pick your own partner — Hawk, you take the new guy," he said, indicating Lucius.
"Sure," said Hawk. "What's the plan?"
"Avoid the rear gate, they'll have a guard there too. Probably just inside so as to draw a foolish thief in. We'll take the walls. Surround the place and pick your entry point. Cross the grounds and get into the house by any means you can. Remember, do this quietly. Brink is rich enough to have more mercenaries in the gardens, as well as in the house."
"Once inside?"
"If you see a mercenary with his back to you, consider him fair game. But I don't want any family hurt at all. Find Brink and restrain him. Do the same with the wife and any kids he may have. They will be the real problem, as their first reaction will be to scream. If that happens, we'll be drowning in mercenaries. So don't let it happen."
"You'll deliver the message?"
"Aye. Leave the speaking to me. Now, go. Begin your entry on the count of eighty."
They fanned out, each pair of thieves taking one wall surrounding the square grounds of the house. The walls were around ten feet high and built of tightly packed brick. The iron spikes atop looked wickedly sharp, but Lucius saw they were spaced nearly a foot apart, enough to allow a careful thief safe passage. Hawk nudged him in the ribs and pointed up at a cherry tree whose branches stretched over the wall.
"That's our way in and out," he whispered. "Remember where it is once we get inside, case you and I are split up."
Lucius had absolutely no intention of letting Hawk out of his sight but dutifully nodded. Hawk unwound the rope he was carrying and threw it expertly upwards, curling it around a thick branch. He took the other end as it snaked back down to them, and made a loop knot before pulling hard. The knot shot upwards to hold firm against the branch and Hawk tugged to make sure it was secure. He held a hand up and waited. Lucius heard him muttering under his breath.
"Seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine… up you go lad."
A little clumsily, Lucius reached hand over hand as he ascended the rope, trying not to gasp out loud with the effort. He ignored the ignominy of Hawk's hand on his rump as the thief tried to speed his partner up, and was soon straining a leg forward to stand on the wall. Letting go of the rope, he crouched, leaning against the cherry tree's branches for support and cover as Hawk followed him. Looking back, he saw Hawk swarm up the rope with practised ease before peering into the grounds of the townhouse.
Lucius could see that the garden was exceptionally well tended, with a paved path running alongside the wall, separating it from a flat lawn that ran to his right, round to the front of the house. A small apple orchard grew to his left, and he imagined the thieves that had gained entry around the back of the grounds were rejoicing in their good fortune, for they would be able to get within spitting distance of the house without any danger of being seen.
The house itself was perhaps a century old, though it had clearly been as well looked after as the gardens. A glasshouse had been built against the side facing him, close to a tall chimney that he guessed served the kitchen. Thick ivy clawed its way up the stonework, and he saw there were no windows on this side of the building.
Lucius took a branch in hand as he prepared to clamber down to ground level, but a quiet hiss from Hawk made him freeze. Movement to his left caught his eye and he watched as a man, thick chainmail glinting dully in the muted light of Kerberos, stepped out of the shadows at the rear of the house, and followed a meandering path that led to the orchard. Peering into the gloom, Lucius noted that the man had a large sword at his belt.
They watched as the man disappeared under the boughs of the trees, and Lucius thought of the thieves taking cover in the orchard, wishing he could warn them. He then considered that they were far more practised at this than he, and that they had no doubt seen the mercenary before he had. Perhaps they had stealthily crept behind the man as he entered the tree line, and even now he was face down in the dirt, a dagger protruding from his back. Another nudge from Hawk interrupted his thoughts, and he reached forward to grab a lower branch of the cherry tree, swinging down to dangle his feet in the air, before letting go and landing on a flower bed in a crouch.
"There's a door to the kitchens just round the side there," Hawk said, indicating where the guard had appeared. "Probably got a friend or two in there, so we'll avoid that. Head to the glasshouse, then go round the front. Stay out of sight. I'll watch your back, then get us in through one of the windows. Go!"
Taking a last glance round the garden to see if any more guards were close by, Lucius drew a deep breath then ran. Keeping low, he brought his cloak around his body, hoping to appear as no more than a shadow. The finely-cut grass of the open lawn provided no hiding places but allowed him to move quickly without a sound. He gingerly stepped over the gravel trail leading to the door of the glasshouse, then flattened himself against the thick ivy at the base of the wide chimney. Creeping round to the front of the house, he quickly spied another mercenary, this one slouching by the front door. A wide path led thirty or forty yards to the wrought iron gates in the front wall, and he saw two more armed men standing there. It was not long before he was aware of Hawk's presence behind him, and he jabbed a finger at the guards.
Hawk nodded to indicate that he saw the danger, then flashed a smile. Lucius looked on in surprise as Hawk crept past him, keeping flat against the front wall of the house, seeming to dare the guard at the front door to look to his right and catch the thief. He was not the only one taking risks, for Lucius looked up and saw another pair of thieves shinning up the ivy on the side of the house.
Having passed the first window at the front of the house, Hawk had positioned himself beneath a second, and gave a gesture for Lucius to follow him. Padding quietly forward, keeping Hawk's body between himself and the guard, he watched the other thief reach into his tunic to produce a curious device. Shaped like a small conical cup with a handle at the narrower end, Hawk placed it against the window. Slowly, he began to turn the handle, and it emitted a low whistling sound as he did so. In the still evening air, it seemed impossibly loud to Lucius, and he cast anxious looks at the nearest guard, thinking he must have detected them, but he made no movement at all.
After a few minutes, Hawk carefully cradled the cup in both hands and steadily moved it away from the window. Lucius saw that where the cup had been placed now lay a perfectly round hole in the window, the blades inside Hawk's tool having neatly cut a section out of the glass. With a last look around, Hawk reached inside the hole and unlatched the window, before pulling it open. Lucius could not help but be impressed with this method of entry, and he promised himself that he would get his hands on one of those tools soon.
Hawk was the first in through the window, seeming to flow like a liquid shadow into the darkened room beyond. Lucius gratefully accepted his hand as he crossed the threshold himself, to find they had entered what must be the main sitting room. In the fireplace on the far wall, glowing embers shed a soft orange light across leather-bound furniture as they both crouched next to a carved wooden desk. Pictures hung from all four walls and while Lucius could not discern any details, he guessed they would collectively be worth a small fortune. A shame, it crossed his mind, that they were here on business other than straightforward theft.
"Guard must have been nodding," Hawk whispered, before gesturing to a door on the wall to their right. "That'll lead to the hall, methinks. We need to get upstairs quickly. I doubt there will be mercenaries up there, and I'll feel a lot safer."
Nodding his assent, Lucius padded to the door, winding his way carefully past the settee and tall chairs. The door was ajar, and he opened it a little further, looking into the hall. Nothing stirred on the other side, and he saw a marbled floor leading to a grand staircase that split into two before turning back on itself to climb up to a balcony that overlooked the entire hall.
A low hiss caught his attention, and he looked up to see another thief had beaten them to the balcony. The dark shape motioned him to follow and, with a nod from Hawk, he stepped into the hall and padded up the stairs.
At the top the balcony backed onto a corridor that seemed to run the length of the house. He noticed that Hawk kept looking over the balcony to the marble below, and he realised the man was keeping an eye out for the mercenaries. The action unnerved him a little, for it was a reminder that though this mission had been quiet so far, the penalty for any mistake could be the death of them all.
The thief that had waved him up had continued down one side of the corridor to join his partner, who had started to open one of the many doors that lined the walls. A quick check inside, and then he moved to the next, evidently having not found the sleeping Brink. Hawk gestured to follow him down the other side of the corridor, and Lucius complied, acutely aware of the sound his boots made on the hard wooden floor, as light as his steps were.
Opening the first door they came to proved as fruitless as the other pair, and Lucius caught a glimpse of a study lined with shelves packed with books before Hawk moved on. They both gave a start as the next door opened just as they reached it, and they drew blades instinctively as a man stepped out, before realising it was Caradoc. He smiled back at them as he lowered his own sword, then jerked his head back towards the room he had just left. Inside, Lucius saw another thief binding the hands of a young girl behind her back as she lay flat on her stomach on her bed. No more than six or seven, she had already been gagged and she caught Lucius' eye, her expression one of sheer terror. The window of her bedroom was open, the route by which Caradoc had entered the house.
With Caradoc leading, they proceeded down the corridor, checking each room in turn as they hunted for the money lender. Blade still drawn, he motioned for Lucius to take a door on the left, while he went for its counterpart on the right.
The door opened easily at Lucius' touch and he crept inside as soon as he saw the young boy sleeping peacefully. Perhaps no more than a year or so older than his sister, he was blissfully unaware as Lucius padded across a soft rug, hand outstretched to throw across the boy's mouth in case he should wake.
From somewhere out in the corridor a bell tolled. It sounded almost mournful as it clanged with dutiful repetition, but it filled Lucius with alarm as he looked over his shoulder. He heard a commotion erupt from somewhere on the ground floor, quickly followed by shouts of surprise, then anger. A piercing cry froze him for an instant before he turned back to see the boy, sitting bolt upright in his bed, screaming at the sight of an armed and cloaked intruder in his bedroom, the very vision of a nightmare.
Lucius hesitated for a fraction longer then cursed under his breath. He retreated out of the room, knowing that whatever was happening outside was of far greater threat than a prepubescent boy.
Caradoc and Hawk were already ahead of him, running at full tilt down the corridor and as Lucius fell in behind them, he saw the lieutenant leap over a motionless form on the floor as they sprinted for the stairs; as Lucius passed over the same spot, he saw it was the body of Caradoc's partner, and he side-stepped the pool of blood in which the man lay.
"There he is!" Caradoc cried as he reached the balcony and pointed downwards with his sword. Lucius skidded to a halt next to him and looked down to see a man being bundled along like a sack of wheat by two armoured mercenaries.
Looking anxiously about, Lucius saw no sign of the other thieves that had also been upstairs and, thinking the money lender had appeared from one of the rooms they had been searching, feared the worst for them. Hawk was already leaping down the stairs, two at a time, but Caradoc climbed onto the railings of the balcony and, with just a second's pause, leapt down to crash among the three escapees.
Tumbling down the stairs in a ragged pile, they came to rest on the marble floor. The mercenaries scrambled for their weapons while Caradoc struggled to his feet, clearly hurt by the fall. The money lender was pushed aside by one of his men as they formed a barrier before Caradoc, their swords drawn as they began to advance. One swiped at Caradoc and he pushed the blow to one side before the other mercenary stabbed forward, forcing him to give ground.
Hawk reached the mercenaries and the area at the foot of the stairs began to turn into a general melee, the sound of metal smashing against metal ringing against the walls.
Having already determined that he would aid Hawk in dispatching the mercenary he faced, Lucius was dismayed as shouts reached his ears just before the main door leading to the front garden was thrown open, and more mercenaries rushed in. Two grabbed the money lender and carried him outside while three others strode into the battle, weapons swinging.
"He's getting away!" Caradoc cried out, and Lucius could not help but marvel at the lieutenant's single-mindedness in the midst of a fight that would very likely prove fatal. He had no idea how an alarm had been tripped — for he knew the thieves would have taken every precaution — but now they faced their worst fears; a fight in which they were outnumbered by skilled and disciplined warriors. It was a fight they could not win.
Hawk was the first to fall, pierced by a sword thrust to his chest as he faced two mercenaries. They had forced him further and further back until he was flat against a wall with no room to move. He collapsed to the ground just as Lucius swung his sword at the head of one enemy, only to have the blow turned by an iron helmet.
The mercenary reeled back under the blow, but his place was quickly taken by Hawk's two killers, and Lucius immediately found himself on the defensive as he fought next to Caradoc.
"This is no good," Caradoc said breathlessly. "You've got to get out of here. Go, I'll cover you."
Though he appreciated Caradoc's willingness to die in his place, Lucius could see there was no way out. The mercenaries pressed against them, forcing them back. When they were finally pushed against the wall, they would die as Hawk had done.
Cursing his luck, Lucius took a breath to steady his nerves, even as his sword arm rose and fell, beating back the blades of the mercenaries. He reached inside himself to find the strands of energy coursing and twisting as they always had done. During his time with the Night Hands, Lucius had resolutely refused to use his magic, partly because he was keen to learn the skills of the trade without taking shortcuts, but mostly because of the fear and suspicion the thieves would have for him if they knew just what he was capable of. Now, left with no choice, he released the magic once more and the familiar surge of arcane energies felt like an invigorating breeze, a cool shower after a voyage across the desert. He mentally pulled upon a particularly destructive strand and pooled its power, waiting for the moment to strike.
One mercenary stepped forward, intending to drive Lucius back another step or two, and his sword swung low. Lucius met the blow with the edge of his blade and pushed it up and to the side, leaving the man wide open. With his other hand he stretched forward, only releasing the power he had held when it was inches from the man's face.
A jet of fire exploded from his palm and smashed into the mercenary's skull and a bright flash lit the hall for the briefest of moments. The man was dead before he hit the floor, and the remaining mercenaries all took a step back in fear as they turned toward the source of the fire.
Caradoc, no less mystified, nevertheless saw his advantage. He thrust forward, disembowelling one of the men he faced, then raced for the door, crying for Lucius to follow him. The mercenaries did not take long to recover and as one turned to chase after Caradoc, the last two rounding on Lucius.
These men had fought together before, Lucius could see, as they worked in almost perfect unison, standing side-by-side as they kept their enemy off balance with repeated blows. The winding energies in his mind's eye separated for an instant, and Lucius drew one of them out, imagining its silver coiled force emanating from his heart to travel down his sword arm. He felt new strength coursing through him and, almost imperceptibly, his blade began to hum as it vibrated in tune with the magic.
Shouting a dreadful battle cry, Lucius stepped up to his attackers and stabbed with all the power he could muster, amplified by otherworldly energy. The mercenary tried to parry the blow, but Lucius' sword was irresistible as it sped forward to spear its point through his eye. The man screamed as Lucius yanked his blade free, then pushed him into his friend.
The bulk of the dying man checked the final mercenary's advance, giving Lucius time to release the last of the energies he had prepared. The shadows of the hall flared, spreading darkness in their wake. The mercenary cried out as he realised he was blinded while Lucius, following his memory of where the front door had been, carefully picked his way across the body strewn marble. When fresh air hit his face, he reached out to find the door frame, then propelled his way outside.
Seeming serene after the chaos of the hall, the front lawn was quiet, and it took Lucius a second to realise what had changed. One of the front gates lay open and, as Lucius dashed towards them, he spotted the body of another armoured mercenary lying still on the grass, the hilt of a dagger protruding from his back.
Grasping the open gate for support as he tried to catch his breath, Lucius saw Caradoc fighting a little further down the street. Evidently he had caught up with the money lender and his remaining guard. Brink was huddled up against a wall, abject terror on his face as he watched the two men fight over him, Caradoc had been wounded, and he clasped his thigh with a bloodied hand as he held his sword out in front of him, trying to keep the mercenary at bay.
Lucius cast an anxious look down both ends of the street, knowing that an open fight here could bring a patrol running with all speed. Violence was simply not tolerated in this part of Turnitia. Trying to control his breathing, Lucius gripped his sword firmly and started to pad up behind the mercenary.
As he closed the distance, he caught Caradoc's eye, who quickly saw his way out. Holding up a hand and dropping his sword, he smiled at the mercenary sweetly.
"My man, I surrender," he announced.
The mercenary took a step towards him, though whether it was to take Caradoc into custody or murder him in cold blood would remain a mystery, as Lucius' sword entered the back of his neck and drove downwards, killing him instantly.
Such was the force of the blow, pushing the sword half its length down into the man's body, Lucius had some trouble removing it. In the end, he had to position the guard on his side, then use both hands while putting a foot on the man's shoulder to pull it free. As he did so, Caradoc sheathed his sword and drew a knife, holding it at the money lender's throat.
"We're not unreasonable men, Brink," Lucius heard him say with a quiet, dreadful menace. "You pay on time, every time, and you'll see we take care of you."
He patted Brink on the shoulder as he smiled, though his knife never wavered from the man's neck.
"But if we ever hear you have declared for those tosspots in the Guild, we will pay you another visit," he continued. "We'll kill your family, we'll kill more of your very expensive guards and maybe, just maybe, we'll kill you too — after we have seen how many times we can wrap your guts around that grand house of yours. Do you understand me, Brink?"
The money lender was beyond words now, such was his raw fear, but he shakily nodded his head.
"That'll do him?" Lucius asked, anxious that a patrol would turn up at any time.
"That'll do him," Caradoc confirmed, as he pulled a scarf from his tunic and began wrapping it around his injured leg. "Well done lad, we'll have words when we get back to the guildhouse. Now, let's go before we catch the attention of the guard. Split up and make your own way back, usual drill."
Lucius hesitated, eyeing Caradoc's leg. Blood was oozing from what looked like a deep stab wound.
Caradoc waved him on. "Don't you worry about me, I've had worse than this. Now, be off with you!"
Jogging away, Lucius kept the shadows. He cast one last look back at the gates of Brink's place, watching as the money lender dragged himself, sobbing, back to his home. Lights were beginning to flicker on inside the house, and Lucius could hear sounds of activity as more mercenaries scoured the gardens and searched rooms for other intruders.
For a brief moment, he saw a figure silhouetted in one of the first floor windows, arms crossed as it stared down into the gardens. There was something familiar about the figure that tugged at Lucius' mind but, after just a few seconds, it turned and left his view.