Of Fortune Foul and Fair
Eighteenth Day of the Tenth Month 293 AC
"Halt!" the thought, not quite a command but certainly far more than a mere suggestion, flashed through Maelor's mind. He stopped moving at once. It did not pay to ignore a Fury's warning, and not just because they were likely to take it ill. They'd fought through the first and greatest of all wars after all. "There are indentations in the stone above where shadow veils the passage, a trap," the Devil continued aloud for the benefit of the two Ash Bloods, not wishing to give them a clue as to her nature. "From the shape of it I suspect a cage."
"So if you dispel the darkness we unleash the warding mark and likely sound the alarm, if you walk through blind you get caught lest you know the password," Agha cursed, though more in a tone of grudging admiration than anger.
"No need to see a trap to block it," Sariq proclaimed, clapping his hands to awaken a faint
enchantment in the scuffed leather before climbing right up the wall of the cellar until he was clinging upside down like a particularly prodigious spider.
Not as big as some of the ones I saw, the boy thought with a shudder at the memory, glad once more that he had not been part of the company that cleared the temple in Venthar.
The thief crawled on the ceiling until he was half in and half out of the patch of arcane darkness and started to fiddle with a chisel, pliers and a wire.
"If that cage falls now it'll slice 'im clean in half," Bronn noted.
"It's his chance to take," Maelor shrugged. Not that he wanted the man to fail, of course, but the more of this heist that was clearly the work of the Ash Bloods the clearer the false trail for the Dervishes, whether that false trail was a sabotaged trap or a pool of blood didn't matter that much. After all, they would be getting their pay either way too.
"Got it!" Sariq called out after a few moments of clinking and cursing in the dark. Agha breathed a sigh of relief.
Thankfully that proved to be the only trap along the stairway, cunning as it had been, all the way up to the heavy iron door leading to the rest of the shop, unfortunately that too was locked and Sariq proved unable to open it from the side they were on.
Maelor carefully unrolled a scroll, eyes going over the sharp curling script of Valyrian, inked by some Scholarum enchanter who had no notion of how far his work might travel: "
Open," he called softly, the last word spinning the magic into the air like fire from old embers woken. A very satisfying click echoed down the passage.
"Remember the plan, we need to kill without a sound so that you can let your men in to do the looting and then out the same way before anyone is the wiser," the young mage reminded the two thugs as he
veiled them and his companions against the light of common day. The spell would be only good for the sneaking and not the killing part of the job, of course, but with a little luck that wouldn't take more than a score of heartbeats.
Sarell was the one who carefully opened the door, her sharp eyes peering through the junk and flotsam of shop beyond. Most of the good stuff was in the basement, after all. For a moment Maelor regretted not looking through there while he had the chance, but if these last three years had taught him anything it was that the old thief's mantra was wrong. First you kill,
then you loot.
There wasn't much need for sharp eyes to spot the first threat, one of the three Fire Giant guards stood with his back to the door, the spikes of his armor gleaming wickedly in the light of his fiery mane. "Not the most dangerous, not by far," Maelor took flight on silent shadow-spun wings while the others slipped past in a more ordinary way, the sound of their tread on stone lost in the creaking of the brute's armor.
Up another set of steps they went towards the master's chambers. The spell of opening had been enough to open the lock here as well, revealing a sight that could not have been more different from the paucity of the shop floor. Gold glittered, jewels shone bright, here a statue carved in ebony of a dancing nymph shared space with a skull with diamond teeth, there a silver songbird perched upon a fluted glass filled with faintly bubbling crimson liquid and upon a wall opposite the door framed in emeralds large as a robin's egg... a shining
arcane mark that drew the eye.
"Fuck!" Maelor cursed inwardly as their lock-breaker started to yell in pain aloud.
"Alright, sneaking's over kill, the bastards!" he shouted, though before the third word had even passed his lips Sarell's arrows were already in the air, arching over the stairway they had just crossed. Two of them found their mark in the flesh between the Fire Giant's gaudy helm and his armor even as it was turning around to shout in alarm.
For his part Maelor flung a spear of shadow sharp as death's own claws down, no more willing than Sarell to leave a foe at their back. The blow practically ripped the Giant's jaw off, but with a gargling shout it charged up the steps after them.
Fel words filled the air behind him and
pain ripped through Maelor as a spell tried to flay his skin raw with false fire.
The Fakir of Fortune had found them.
"You think to steal from me, roaches?!" he roared as another giant loomed behind him. "I will enjoy squeezing you for your oils!"
A wave of fire hot enough to burn even spirits born of flame bloomed between Agha's hands, but it was the guard who took most of the blow while bound by tethers of arcane servitude. Never one to back down from a challenge, Bronn charged, sword bright as a polished razor in his hands to cut and cut and cut again. Without anyone to distract the foe the sellsword wasn't quite at his best, but he was a lucky as ever, blade turning just so to scrape bone and slice through tendon, the pummel of his dagger turning to slam the efreeti in his face on the backstroke even as the blade went wide.
"Cheat and liar I name thee!" Sarell proclaimed, the judgement as pitiless as it was inevitable. The bow sang again, striking the merchant in the eye with another black feathered arrow, the dark mantle that had fallen upon her in that instant turning aside the giant's glaive as it roared and wept blood from its own ruined eye and lashed instead at Sariq. The thief was not so fortunate, falling to the ground, clutching at the torn flesh of his stomach.
Ill luck seemed to be catching as Fakir spun among his webs of suffering, not a spell but something older, something crueler, a cackling darkness for which the world was some cruel jest.
Just as the giant below was thundering up the stairs Maelor coated the last steps in
conjured grease, sending the brute tumbling backwards with the clank of metal and the sickening sound of breaking bone. Perhaps not wishing to be outdone Bronn struck at the other giant who had now moved to protect his master with renewed vigor while Agha drew a dagger to draw its eye so that Fleasticker may reap its full harvest.
The Fire Giant fell to one knee, its armor weeping blood from every joint, but with one last mighty heave flung Bronn clear over Maelor's head and down the stairs before two more of Sarell's arrows silenced it forever.
"Pity," the Fakir cackled, looking down at the body of his erstwhile protector. "I shall just have to choose another." He motioned at Sarell,
smoky chains spinning from his hands to grasp her, but they could find no purchase in the mind and soul of the Fallen. He never even saw Maelor's blow fly, and then as shadows heavy as a hammer's blow sundered his skull he never saw anything more at all.
Turning back with a relieved sigh, Maelor saw that Bronn had seemingly landed sword first in the last Fire Giant, looking battered but triumphant as he wiped the sword clean on his foe's flesh.
OOC: Hopefully that was worth it. Again thanks to @Artemis1992 for designing the Fakir. He did not quite get a perfect chance to shine here because of the surprise, but he held out pretty well I'd say. If he had managed that last spell things would have gotten even more complicated for Maelor and company. Of course, if the cage trap had gotten someone that would have been much, much worse.
]