Scoundrel's Answer Ch. 05

Charity clapped a hand over her mouth as she stared at the growing pool of blood, then Garthur's voice spoke in that rumbling, soothing tone of his, "It'll be alright lass, we'll get ya home right soon."

Cries from above snared Vick and Alan's attention. Both men cast their gaze across the ceiling as booted feet tramped across the floor above. Vick drew his sword out of the corpse at his feet, then strode over toward the opening of the main hallway.

"Well, so much for the element of surprise." Alan then gestured to the bolt in his shoulder. "Garthur, you think you can help with this?"

Garthur's footsteps approached Alan, and as he left her side, Charity backed toward the open doorway. As Garthur began to extract the bolt from Alan's shoulder, Farangalia's high pitched voice chimed up, "Guys? Is there any reason we're leaving the monster alive?"

Alan, Vick, and Charity all froze in place, and turned their gaze toward one another. The air was thick with tension, the silence broken only by the steady approach of tramping boots.

Charity was the first to break the silence, with a nervous laugh. "W-what does she mean, monster? Alan? Vick?"

No sooner had Vick's name escaped her lips than both the Count and Alan drew their blades across toward Charity. The corpulent Lord Varonne spoke in a low, warning tone, "That'd be Count Varonne to you, Charity... but then if you were Charity, you'd know that unlike Alan here, only my close friends are allowed to take such liberties."

Charity's eyes widened, but then a cruel sneer crossed her features. She clapped slowly, "Bravo, Count Meathead. I hadn't expected you to figure it out so easily." As they watched, the lush curves of the priestess bled away, shifting into a taller and bulkier figure. There, before them all, stood the dark haired, dark eyed figure of Guildmaster Devron. As the transformation was finished, four members of the guild crowded into the hallway, blades bared.

As Vick brought his great black blade upward, Alan raised a hand, "Hold," and then, with barely contained rage, he addressed his former protege, "Devron, where have you taken Elizabeth? Why did you take her? Was mastery of the guild not enough for you?" As he spoke, a faint glow finally came from Alan's wounded shoulder, as Garthur worked to heal the wound. The unflappable dwarf could always be counted on.

"Yeah, it's not actually Devron either guys," the invisible gnome chimed up helpfully, which brought a hearty laugh from the Guildmaster.

"What, Sir Tinsley," He began with an extravagant, taunting tone, "You expect me to just outline everything I've done here for you, like some twisted narcissist? You silly man."

The stalemate was broken by a soft thud and gurgling from down the main corridor. Alan gazed past Vick and the men beyond in time to see Daphne striding away from another fallen figure. Blood flowed freely from her lower lip. It cascaded in great quantities down to spatter upon her cleavage, and she lifted one hand to inelegantly wipe the crimson liquid from her tanned skin.

Her fangs glinted as she spoke, "What? I was bored..."

"Alan!" The gnome woman cried out, causing him to whip his gaze back. Devron was gone, and a panel slid back into place in the wall in his wake. Cursing, the old thief raced toward the secret wall panel, fingers slid over the surface ineffectually.

"This is new, give me a moment to figure it out." His voice was almost drowned out by the clash of steel, as Vick Varonne spun to catch the blades of the men in the hall with his own.

The broad sweep of the old warrior's black bladed sword met steel and flesh alike as he batted aside the charge. One man staggered back, grievously injured, and then the Count strode forward a step, lifting his blade up in both hands. He brought it down in an overhead chop, rendering another of the guild members into a gurgling mess.

"Fara, c'mere lass!" The dwarf's deep voice sounded from a corner of the entry chamber, and soon the scuffling footsteps of the small woman brought her over toward the area the dwarf's call had come from. The two remaining invisible members of the group huddled out of the way as more footsteps could be heard rushing overhead.

Daphne drew two wicked looking daggers, and gazed intently at the two fellows remaining between herself and Vick. The two men began to falter, gazing from the hulking armored figure before them, then back to the blood drenched elf. The elven maid's tongue traced sensuously over her lower lip, gathering up the blood still there.

"Well boys? Ready to play?"

Her words caused them to bolt for a different side door each.

"Alan, take short stuff and Garthur with you when you get that opened. Monster bitch and I will go clear out the rest."

Alan offered a nod to Vick's words, but by then the Count and the elf were already gone. The sounds of clashing steel and sharp screams echoed through the complex halls of the safe house, and whatever plan the old rogue had to get his friends through the place was quickly going down the tubes. Still, the two knew how to handle themselves. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the panel popped open. A narrow, dark passage lay beyond. "Right, it's open."

As he began to reach for a torch, Farangalia spoke syllables that made his eyes cross and head ache. A glowing sphere of shining light burst into view behind him at that moment, shining brighter than any torch. He squinted for a moment, then nodded to the area the light seemed to shine from. With a quick word of thanks, the old rogue begin to carefully creep into the passage, followed by the patter of small feet and the clank of armor.

The passage was new, but he recognized the make as similar to other passages that crisscrossed the safe house. Perhaps it wasn't so much new as one he hadn't discovered in his own time as guildmaster. Just a few feet across, they would have to go single file down the corridor. The walls were unfinished wood, the opposite side of the paneling that decorated the interior walls, and there were the occasional little holes where one could peek in on the contents of the rooms beyond. Alan pause here and there, gazing into rooms that they passed. Nothing immediately stood out, so he continued on.

It was like being a rat in a rich man's house, scurrying through the walls with the hope of not getting caught. Occasionally Alan knelt down to deal with the odd trap laid in their way, but nothing was of any serious complexity. The secret passage split at one point, and Alan could finally tell where he was. There used to be a brace that had blocked the passage they'd just traversed, but someone had helpfully cut it away. He only hoped it didn't unduly affect the structure of the house itself. Turning down a passage, he motioned for his invisible companions to follow close.

Flexing his recently wounded arm, Alan marveled at the efficiency of the dwarf lord's healing magic. He was still a little sore, but he could use his blade again, no doubt. With both hands free, he drew his sword in one hand, and dagger in the other. But a few paces before them, the hall opened into the downstairs secret chamber, and though their chance for surprise was nullified by the light necessary to see by, he still wanted to be ready.

The old rogue hesitated a moment, tightening his grip upon his blades, then with a sudden rush he rounded the corner. There was no sign of Devron in the room, but the chamber was not unoccupied. It was a modest room, just ten feet on a side, with a floor of bare boards and walls of the same unfinished wood paneling. A few crystal balls lay on a crude wooden table, their dusty and chipped surfaces displayed scenes from within the safe-house. A crude ladder lead up through a hole in the ceiling. A chest lay discarded in one corner, no doubt with some emergency funds kept safe by obscurity rather than any serious security. A few other passages lead out toward other secret spy-holes throughout the ground floor.

In one corner, however, a woman lay chained to a cot. Exceptionally still, only the gentle rise and fall of her bared breasts revealed her continued vitality. Her hair had been shaved away, and her pale skin was riddled with tattoos and scars of a vile, unwholesome sort. Her nipples and lower lip had been pierced through with wicked looking rings, and her wrists and calves were chafed by whatever bindings had once held her. The lone chain remaining was secured to a thick metal collar about her neck. She wore no clothing, but there were the scraps of some once rich gown in a tattered wreck at the foot of the cot.

"Lady Fayne," Farangalia's voice was shocked and breathless, even with no visual cues to her reaction.

Alan nodded, wincing, then approached the cot. The woman upon it shook her head as he approached, and though her lips moved, no sound came out. When he reached out toward her chain, his hand was stopped by an invisible, gauntlet clad hand.

"Careful boy, lemme take a look at these marks. There be something unnatural about 'em."

"Of course," Alan stepped back, his gaze fixed on the woman there. Petite, but with fair curves and soft skin, she was still beautiful even after the torments inflicted upon her. Why would anyone do such a thing? A cold dread for his wife's fate knotted in his gut.

The images in the crystal balls flickered and changed, catching his eye. "Is that you, Farangalia?"

"Yeah, just seeing what I can see. It looks like Vick's gone on a killing spree."

The rogue snorted "Yeah, I think he misses being able to let loose, I just hope he remembers these are people, however misguided, and not just some greenskins in some cave some where."

"From the goblin's point of view, there ain't much difference, boy," Garthur's words bore a certain sense of tolerance absent among much of his people. Still, Alan knew the dwarflord had partaken in his share of slaughter in years past.

Mia Fayne groaned as, presumably, the dwarf urged her onto her side. "Look at this," At his words, Alan crept closer, only to narrow his eyes. Upon the woman's back, a message had been carved, and healed over. The handwriting was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't immediately place it.

'If you think this is bad, imagine what I'll do to your wife, Alan.' Below the writing, the imprint of a woman's hand was branded into Mia's fair flesh.

He felt sick, and turned away.

"I know that writing, lad, I just can't place it..."

This garnered his attention, and Alan forced himself to look back toward the words carved into Mia's flesh. He'd assumed it was someone in the guild, but if the dwarflord knew it too, that narrowed down the suspects considerably. Garthur never spent much time with members of the guild. "Who could it possibly be?"

"Someone from our past. Look, the girl's safe to let go, but there ain't no telling what'll happen with her if we just leave her here. I'll guide her outside, just undo the lock."

Alan settled near, then set his tools down with a sweep of one hand, "Alright." It was all he could say, really, and so he worked in silence for that moment, meaning to unlock the collar from the woman's neck. She remained terribly docile the entire time, Alan wasn't sure if she was drugged, or if she'd snapped during her captivity.

Eventually, the lock gave way, and the still invisible Garthur moved to help the woman from the cot. She was unsteady, but seemed to acquiesce to the situation without question, despite being unable to see her rescuer. Alan watched as Garthur lead her toward the passage they'd come from. His dwarven vision would enable him to traverse the passage without light, certainly.

"I found her!" Farangalia's squeal startled the thief out of his thoughts.

"Where?!" He rushed toward the crystal balls, only to catch sight of the image of his wife. She was clad in a loose white robe, barely secured about her form, and was sitting on the edge of a chair, surrounded by armed and armored men, of the rough sort the guild used to use as enforcers. She looked relatively unharmed. "I know that room. That's on the top floor."

"We'd best get the others then."

"No, wait," Alan eyed the ladder in the corner. "We can head up to the second floor passages, then come out near the foyer landing. Then we can catch any who are trying to escape the two below, and they'll eventually start heading up themselves."

"You mean to wipe them all out, don't you, Sir Tinsley?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"I'm not judging, just saying." A tiny hand patted his knee.

With a sigh, Alan sheathed his dagger, then began to ascend the rickety ladder. It lead into a minor juncture on the second floor, and seemed to continue up to the third. The hatch covering the entrance to the third floor's secret passages was closed and likely barred from the other side. At least Alan knew what way Devron had fled earlier. Just to be certain, the old thief poked it with his sword, but the hatch was unyielding. There was also a faint stench of old decay that he could have sworn he'd never caught in the guild house before. It all brought a sense of dread to him.

After a moment to ensure that Farangalia and her bobbing, mystical light caught up with him, Alan traversed the secret passages toward one of the panels he certainly knew about. Carefully opening it, the foyer landing was revealed. A broad, railed balcony overlooked the downstairs foyer, and a pair of archers stood, arrows nocked and aimed down at the room below. They had yet to notice the shifted panel.

With a sudden rush, Alan left the passage, and plunged his blade into the back of one of the archers. The man screamed as he was impaled, loosing his arrow at the wall of the room below. The other archer turned immediately, wide eyed. With his bow drawn, he fired his own arrow at Alan, at extremely close range. The old thief spun in that moment, still maintaining his grip on the man he'd just back-stabbed. The fellow was still conscious as the other archer's arrow slammed into his chest, but not for much longer thereafter.

Alan ripped his sword from the dead man, and fixed his gaze at the lone archer remaining. There was something familiar about the fellow, and this time it was no long mystery as to where the old thief had seen this one. The man was one of the ones he'd seen in the mirror, using Elizabeth.

As the archer drew back another arrow, he stumbled backward a step. Alan followed, his eyes fixed upon the retreating man with murderous intent. A swing of his sword put that length of steel through the archer's bow, cutting it in half, and severing the hand holding it. The archer's screams were audible nectar to Alan's ears. He let the darkness which had been building in his soul free reign in that moment. Again and again his sword struck the man, never going for a vital blow.

"Alan!" Farangalia's cries were drowned out by the screams of agony. "Alan!" She tried again, but it was clear that blood-lust had taken the thief.

It took almost five minutes for the screams from the mangled, mutilated archer to subside. Alan stood above the man, bloodied blade still in hand. It wasn't the silence of the corpse that finally broke the old thief out of his frenzy, but rather the sudden wail of another. A rather plain half-orc woman had rushed up the stairs, wounded and still bearing an axe in one hand. She had on the black armor of the guild, and Vick was huffing up the stairs behind her, albeit at a much slower pace. She simply stood there, staring at the carnage before her in horror.

When Alan looked up from his grim work, she turned and limped back down the stairs. As Vick came to meet her, she threw down her axe, and sank to her knees on the stairs. Vick raised his blade, then turned his gaze toward Alan.

"This is your show... I'll go with whatever you want."

Alan considered the surrendered rogue, then finally spit down on the body he'd set to work on. "No prisoners."

The words were hardly out of his mouth before Vick's blade descended.

When the aging Count finally reached the top of the stairs, he looked over the gore with an unflinching eye. "Damn Alan, was that necessary?"

"He fucked my wife."

Vick took a dirty cloth from his pocket, and wiped his black blade down. "Oh." It's all he could say on the matter. Then, "Daphne went on ahead."

"Good, we found Lizzy, she's up at the third floor."

Through it all, Farangalia had remained silent, but finally her voice rose, obviously shaken "I... what you did, and you two are just... so cavalier about it."

"What were you expecting, heroes?" Vick eyed the emptiness where the gnome's voice had come from.

"Well yes! The original Reavers, saviors of the kingdom."

"We were never heroes. We were just in the right place at the right time."

"Or our enemies were at the wrong place at the wrong time for them," Alan added, "Now let's go, we still have the second floor to clear.

"You're terrible," the gnome sniffled a bit as Alan passed.

"Short stuff," Vick paused to comment, "You haven't seen anything yet. Come along or go home, but don't get in our way." With that, the two older men moved for the main hall through the second floor.

After a moment, the invisible padding of little feet followed them.