Asher's Quest by Royce Day & Steven Hill


        The wiry, wolfish man leaned over the account book, looking it
over carefully and comparing what was written there to what he thought
it should have contained.  Chuckling softly, he leaned back in his
chair.



        "Beck, you're getting greedy," Asher said into the air.  "May
have to have a talk with you."



	"Just a talk, one hopes," a voice said.  


        Asher looked over to where Taman 'sat', levitating in a lotus
position more than a yard above the floor.  Cocking an eyebrow, the
thief grinned,  "You showing concern for Beck, Ears?"


        The drow lowered his legs to stand and straightened his purple
mage robes.  "Not really.  Your last talk with him, however, led to you
having to run the inn for a week as he healed.  I have never seen you so
cross."  He walked around the spartan council table and desk to peer
over the human's shoulder at the rows of entries.  "My, Master Moon has
become rather creative in his bookkeeping."



        Asher's wolfish grin widened.  "One does wonder what we're going
to do with two hundred pounds of sage."



	"Sell a great deal of chicken?" Taman inquired.


        Asher's reply was interrupted by a quiet knock on the door.  At
his call of, "Enter!" the door opened to reveal Doran's face peeking
around it.


        Asher's grin softened to a paternal smile.   At seventeen, Doran
was well within the flower of her womanhood, with her elf-like features
haloed by the long white-blond hair that trailed all the way down her
back.  Her wide, deep blue eyes blinked once, and she asked, "May I come
in, Papa?"



         "You're always welcome, Doran.  You know that," Asher answered.
He rose up out of his seat and walked past Taman to meet Doran in a hug.
His daughter was not of his blood, but she was very deeply of his heart.
It was a pleasure to be to be interrupted from a book of lying numbers
to greet her.



        Asher put his arms chastely around Doran's waist, and bent his
head to plant a kiss on her forehead.  His daughter's arms wrapped
around his neck, and the thief's first indication of danger was the
touch of steel on his spine.



        Asher dropped to his knees, slipping out of his daughter's
deadly embrace.  His right leg swept out into a hook kick, and Doran
fell to the ground. She rolled away, dodging a knife that suddenly
appeared in the floor where she had lain a moment before.



        The thief backed away and allowed his opponent to stand.  Both
he and Taman watched impassively as the figure before them rippled, the
skin darkening to ebony as it gained two inches of height and its hair
shortened to merely shoulder length.



        Peregine bowed before Asher, a foxish grin on his face.  The
drow's knife disappeared into the sleeve of his shirt as he said,
"Almost not quick enough... 'Papa.'"



        He was forced to duck as one of Asher's own knives intersected
the space where his head was a moment before.  Two more missed his ears
by a hair and when he raised his face to meet Asher's eyes, he found
himself looking at a deadly cold mask.



        "Peregine," Asher said slowly and carefully as Taman looked on,
"What did you think you were trying to do?"



        "You told me to make an assassination attempt on you today,"
Peregine said, regaining some of his poise.  "You can hardly fault me
for succeeding."



        "I'm not talking about the damned assassination attempt you
damned pox ridden elf," Asher spat.  "What the devil did you think you
were doing, pretending to be Doran?" 



        Peregine shrugged.  "I thought it was rather clever, myself.
You were sufficiently surprised."


        Asher strode over to where Peregine stood.  With one swift
motion he grabbed the drow's collar and yanked him forward, until there
was barely an inch separating their faces.



        "Listen, elf, and listen well," Asher growled.  "You are never
to assume Doran's form again, not even if you're here and I'm all the
way in bloody Frencia, do you understand?  And if you do, and I find
out, I'll have you damned balls spitted on the end of my dagger, you
hear?"  He roughly shoved Peregine away from him, the angry expression
still on his face.  "Now get the hell out, before I lose my temper."



        Peregine nodded carefully, finally realizing the extent of his
employer's rage.  He raised his hands in supplication, saying, "I'm
sorry, Asher.  I hadn't realized..."


        "Get out," Asher growled.  Peregine, sensing further words would
be pointless, fled, slipping silently through the door.



        Taman walked over to Asher, and carefully put a hand on the
tense thief's shoulder.  "I agree that was most tasteless on Peregine's
part, but was not your response just a tad explosive?"



        His face still flushed red, Asher spun about and stormed back to
his seat behind the desk.  Running his hand through his coarse hair, he
took a couple of deep breaths before looking at the puzzled drow.
"Damnation Ears, you know me, I don't trust easily."  A sad look of
exasperation crossed his face.  "If Peregine keeps up with fool acts
like that,  I won't  be able to look at Doran without wondering 'what
if?'...  I don't want that to happen."  He looked down at the scattered
accounting papers and let his voice drop to a whisper.  "She means too
much to me."


        Taman nodded but said nothing.  He quietly walked over to the
council table.  With a concerted stare and a wave of his hand, the wine
bottle, sitting on a tray in the table's center with two goblets,
obediently popped open.  He took the bottle and slowly filled the
goblets.   Taking one for himself, he offered the other to the downcast
thief, "Drink this and calm yourself."


        Muttering an unintelligible thanks,  Asher took the proffered
wine, tipped it back, and drained nearly half the glass.  Letting out a
sigh, he slumped back into the heavy chair and dangled the goblet from
his fingertips.  



        There was another knock at the door.  At Asher's listless, "Come
in," Doran's face reappeared.  The first thought through his head was,
Peregine, you can't be stupid enough to do this to me twice.  He gritted
his teeth in anger, trying to hide the motion behind an upturned grin.
Doran saw it, and her smile turned into a puzzled frown.



	"Is now a bad time, Papa?" she asked hesitantly.



        "No, no, of course not," Asher said.  With eerie an sense of
deja-vu, he put the goblet down and stood up meet her in an embrace.
When her arms reached around his neck, he stiffened, and Doran quickly
let go and backed away.



        "Papa, what's wrong?" she asked, looking at him then turning to
look to Taman for reassurance.



        "I'm afraid Peregine's sense of humor leaves much to be
desired," the elven mage told her, his face softening.  "He chose a
rather inappropriate form for a Paranoid Day."



        Not knowing what to say,  Asher gave a sad shrug and smiled
weakly at his adopted daughter.  Seeing a distant hurt look in her eyes,
he let his shoulders sag loosely and meandered slowly back to his seat.  



        The heavy silence between the two began to wear on Taman, and he
uncharacteristically began to fidget where he stood.  Grasping at
anything to change the subject and relieve the tension, he turned to his
specialty and intentionally stepped between Doran and Asher.  Levitating
to her eye level, he took his 'master' tone.  "Doran, have you been
studying the texts that I provided for you?"



        "Yes, Uncle Taman," she answered, glancing back to him and
obviously wondering at the change in subject.


        "Excellent," the elf replied.  "If Asher is willing to let you
go this afternoon, I thought it appropriate that you visit Mistress
Anala today and begin learning some practical information on herbal
applications."



        "She can go, if she wishes," Asher said, avoiding his daughter's
gaze by looking over at Taman.



        "I'll get my note slate then," Doran said.  She took a step
forward, as if to try and hug her father again, then backed away and
turned towards the door.


        "Doran..." Asher called out.  She turned back to finally meet
her father's weary gaze.



	"Yes, Papa?"



        "I'm sorry," Asher told her.   She nodded once, a sad look in
her eyes.  He lowered his head to stare at the grain of the table, and
heard her light footsteps across the floor, before the door shut.


	"Old friend..." Taman began, but the thief had begun to speak.


        "She's the one bright, untarnished thing in my life..." Asher
said bleakly.  "If it came between not trusting her, and dying, I think
that I'd rather die."


Damn you, Peregine!






        "A slice of mutton and an ale, please," Peregine told the
serving wench.  Girl, he corrected himself.  This was the good side of
the tavern, after all.



        "Of course, Master Peregine," the girl said.  She walked off,
leaving the drow assassin to his thoughts.  



        Asher's anger had been typically human, he decided.  His
decision to ignore the potential threat of an attack by Doran was
extremely foolish, guided by the belief that she'd remain the sweet
young woman she was now.  The thief wasn't willing to consider that she
might change, and perhaps someday find the idea of a living Asher too
intolerable to ignore.


        This thought was dispelled as he spotted the object of his
ruminations approaching his table.  Doran wore the same conservative
dress she had put on this morning and Peregine had imitated, suitable
for a young lady of respectable background, and carried her note slate
under one arm.  Looking at her, one wouldn't guess she counted thieves
and assassins among her protectors.



        "Good afternoon, Cousin," he greeted her, using the familiar
term in the hopes of softening the disturbed expression on her face.
From the looks of her, she had recently visited her father, which didn't
bode well for her current opinion of him.


        "Peregine," she acknowledged, her expression unchanging.  "I
have to go to the Res Arcane soon, but I was wondering if I could speak
with you for a moment."


        "Of, course," Peregine said, wishing he could find some excuse
to leave immediately.



        "What did you do to make Papa so upset?" Doran asked, sitting
down beside him.  "I went to visit him in his office, and he looked at
me as if I was a stranger."



        "I'm afraid that Asher decided that today would be one of his
Paranoid Days, and got more than he bargained for," Peregine told her
blandly.  He slipped a knife from his wrist sheath, and began to sharpen
it with a whetstone he fished from his pockets.



        "You came in there looking like me, didn't you?" Doran accused,
a frown marring her delicate face.



        "Yes," he answered simply.  The knife in his hand was quite
sharp, but he continued running the whetstone over it anyway



        "That wasn't fair, Peregine," Doran said hotly.  "Papa would
never expect me to hurt him."


        "No, he wouldn't," Peregine agreed, putting his knife and
whetstone down on the table.  "That's exactly why I used your form."


	"To trick him!"



        "To show him how foolish he was," Peregine countered.  Doran's
frown deepened, and she looked at the drow assassin fiercely, as if
trying to convince him to change his argument through sheer will.



        "I'd never hurt Papa," she said.  "It's ridiculous to even think
that I ever would."


        "Oh, is it now?" Peregine asked, a dangerous gleam coming to his
eye.  "What if an illusionist came calling one day, and decided your
body would be the ideal one to imitate if he wanted to get close to
Asher?"



        "Imitate my form, maybe," Doran agreed.  "But they could never
imitate all the other things about me.  What of my body language, what
about how I speak?  You know it all, so you could pass as me, but its
doubtful anyone else would be able to manage."



        "Truth," Peregine said.  "But what if it was you yourself who
was going to perform the deed?"  Doran looked at her father's retainer
with genuine anger on her face now.



        "I would never do that, Peregine," she told him firmly.  "I love
Papa.  He took in a lost little girl and gave her what she needed to
survive.  I'd rather kill myself than ever harm him."



        "You may not have any choice in the matter," he said softly.
His hand rose and made a quick gesture, and he spoke a phrase in a
tongue that was neither Common nor any form elvish she knew.  She made
no reaction when he finished speaking, indeed, made no motion or speech
at all, even when Peregine picked up his knife off the table and rested
the tip lightly on the base of her throat.



        "You can neither move nor speak, Doran," he said in that same
soft, dangerous tone.  "At this moment, through no fault of your own,
your body is not yours to control.  I am by no means the most powerful
of mages, child.  With just a little more knowledge, a practitioner of
magic could control your body like a puppet, or plant a suggestion in
your mind that might lay buried for months, until the moment came when
you could strike Asher down.  That is what I was training your father to
expect."  His knife disappeared inside his sleeve, and he canceled the
spell with a pass of his hand.



        Doran began to shake and her eyes filled with tears as the spell
was released.  She stood up quickly from the table, knocking her chair
to the floor, before letting out one pained, "Oh!" and fleeing the
common room, leaving her note slate forgotten on Peregine's table.



        That could have gone better, he thought to himself.  He
shrugged, then crossed his arms and waited for the serving girl to
return.  Doran would see his point of view eventually.



        Peregine turned in his seat as he felt someone approach from
behind.  Coming toward him was a large woman, who had dark blond hair,
but none of the other features that made Asher's daughter so attractive.
She was well over six feet tall, and had the heavy muscles of a Frisian
brawler, plus a face to match.



        "May I help you, Brigit?" Peregine inquired.  Brigit was the
Rose and Pearls' resident bouncer, having gained the position after
tossing the previous holder of it out the door.  Literally.  She was
also passionately devoted to Doran's welfare, a fact that abruptly came
to Peregine's attention when her large hand clamped down on his
shoulder.


        "Vat did you do to Lady Doran?" Brigit asked, her words colored
by her thick accent.  Peregine knew she was of at least normal
intelligence, but her struggle with Common made that easy to forget,
much to many of her opponent's dismay.  



        "I was merely having a discussion with her concerning Asher's
personal defense," Peregine said evenly.  He tolerated Brigit's grip on
his shoulder with patience.  While he'd likely win if he ever entered
combat with her, it would take at least five or six strokes with his
knives to cut her down, and he'd come out of it with a broken shoulder
at minimum.  The woman had a typically Frisian constitution, which meant
her closest biological equivalent was that of an ogre.



        "Lady Doran vas upset," Brigit said slowly.  "You put  knife to
her throat.  That made her more upset.  That makes me upset."  For the
sake of emphasis, her grip on Peregine's shoulder tightened.  "You try
kill Doran?"



        "If you thought that, I doubt we'd be having this conversation,"
Peregine answered, wincing at the pain.  Before Brigit could respond, he
said, "I was showing her how easy it would be for a mage to manipulate
her.  How she could be made to hurt someone else.  I will admit, she
didn't take the demonstration as well as I thought she might."


        "She crying when she leave here," Brigit said.  "You tell her
you sorry you make her cry."


        "I will when she returns," Peregine answered.  He gasped Brigit
tightened her grip a fraction more.



        "You tell her now," the bouncer said.  She let go of the
assassin's shoulder and crossed her arms, staring down at him fiercely.
Peregine rubbed his shoulder, weighing Asher's anger at losing a good
bouncer against his wounded pride.


        "Since you asked me so politely," Peregine said, prudence
winning over honor.  He picked up Doran's note slate, as Brigit
retreated and the serving girl finally appeared with his mutton and ale.


        "Take it back," he told her brusquely.  He tossed a few coins on
the table and followed Doran out the door, shapeshifting as he went.






        From his seat on the stolen Public Works wagon,  Hugo watched
with sublime disinterest as his hired sellswords mucked about the hole
in the street cobbles.  They'd been at the subterfuge for the past
watch, pretending to fix the ragged gash that they themselves had made
in the wee hours of  the morn.  Yet, rather than having patched it, they
had actually doubled its size, taking nearly half the width of the
street.  Hugo had begun thinking that they would have to move on soon.
He'd already been forced to placate two petty city bureaucrats walking
about on their day's business, and things could get sticky if someone of
importance made an appearance.   Hugo had no interest in spending any
time in New Aveon's city dungeon.  At least not for what he was getting
on this job.



        Being thoroughly amused by two of the sellswords' attempts to
set a cobble in the rapidly thickening morass of mud,  Hugo was easily
distracted by a loud 'slam' from the front of the Rose & Pearls.
Turning, he caught sight of his fair haired prey rapidly departing the
inn in tears.  Smiling wickedly, the caustic little man let out a long,
"Ahhhhhhh," which rapidly changed into a knowing, "Ooohhh," when an elf
slipped from the inn after the girl.  Jumping from the wagon seat, he
cuffed the nearest mud-covered mercenary on the shoulder and with his
startled exclamation got all of their attention.  "Drop those idiotic
tools and get your blades.  Our quarry is getting away."  As they
discarded their assorted picks and shovels and pulled their assorted
arms from the covered bed of the wagon, Hugo gleefully stood, rubbing
his hands together as he thought of the gleaming marks soon to be his.






        Peregine strode with practiced ease through the crowd milling in
the street outside the Rose and Pearls.  Stepping around a public works
wagon manned by some particularly listless looking laborers, he
accelerated his pace when he spotted Doran's fair form some hundred feet
ahead of him.  Her shoulders were still shaking with tears as she made
her way along the street, heading toward the Res Arcanum, Mistress
Anala's alchemical shop.


        He caught the eye of a young human couple who were also heading
in Doran's direction, walking with studied casualness.  Entirely too
studied, Peregine noted with annoyance.


        Asher's Ebon School was not a thieve's guild.  That would be a
violation of the agreement he had reached with New Aveon's
powers-that-be many years ago.  It was however, the best place to go for
intelligence operatives and other individuals whose professions were
shady, but had nothing to do with relieving people of their valubles.  A
common assignment for operatives in training was to act as discreet
shadows for Doran.  These two had to be new though.  From the clumsy way
they bobbed their heads attempting to keep her in sight, one would have
to be blind to miss them.  The only reason Doran herself hadn't noticed
them was because she was in no condition to be looking right now.



        Peregine caught the eye of the two operatives and made a
discreet hand sign to return them to their previous post.  He tried not
wince as they openly disccussed the matter, then finally turned back.
He shook his head once in disgust, then moved on.



        Gripping Doran's note-slate, Peregine considered what he'd do
when he finally caught up with her.  It was more than likely she'd
expect the apology Brigit had demanded, despite the fact the
demonstration he had made was simply for her education.  He decided he'd
probably provide one, if for no other reason than if Asher found out
about his small example of magic, he'd be even more furious with him
than before.



        He slowed his pace in order to let Doran have time to compose
herself.  As he kept track of her bobbing head, he wondered what he
would do if he was ever ordered to kill her.


        Peregine considered himself a master assassin, but more
importantly, an artist.  Normally he never took an assignment that
didn't have some artistic merit and brought forth some deeply personal
emotional response.  The victim had to be deserving, naturally, or else
he'd never even consider it, and he had to come up with an appropriate
method of execution.  Doran, should the situation ever arise, would be a
particularly aesthetic target.  



        Poison, he decided, would likely be the best method.  It would
be terrible to mar her near-elven beauty with a weapon.  The standard
poisoned goblet would be cliched, though.  A better idea would be a
contact poison, spread along the strings of her gittern.  A slow one,
however.  It wouldn't do at all for her to die in the middle of her
final concert.  It struck a sad chord within him.  The beautiful artist
making beautiful music until her end came quietly



        Peregine let the enchanting concept slip from his consciousness
and let the full aspect of his paranoid awareness touch the surrounding
crowd.   From the background of the street's din, he became aware of the
sound of a wagon rumbling behind him, the horses drawing it neighing in
distress.   



        He turned just in time to see the public-works wagon he had
observed earlier bearing down on him, barely twenty yards away.  A
short, frenzied little human stood up in the driver's seat, whipping the
two horses into a gallop through the crowd.  Peregine jumped out of its
path just before it succeeded in running him down.  The wagon didn't
pause as it rattled past, disgorging three workman, who hefted swords
rather than pickaxes with what seemed like more than healthy enthusiasm.



        Seeing the threat for what it was, Peregine immediately moved to
strike, as going on the defensive ran strictly counter to his nature.
Throwing Doran's slate high in the air to free his hands, he took a cue
from his master and rolled low beneath one's sword swing, striking hard
at the knee of the man's set foot.   Rewarded with the tortured sound of
snapping ligature and grating bone, he rolled past and brought his foot
up in the surprised groin of another.   The man's soft tissues fully
killing his momentum, he came to his feet and finished the doubled over
attacker with a two-fisted uppercut to his jaw.   Having disabled the
two,  he momentarily lost track of the third, almost to his detriment.
The thin whistling of a sword cutting through the air reached his ears a
moment before the blade itself.  Ducking beneath the blow and turning
around, he let matched daggers fall into his hands and brought them up
hard beneath the taller human's ribcage.  Through the blood covered s e
felt the man's heart beat its last before he let him drop.  Sheathing
his blades, he caught Doran's falling note slate as he looked to see the
two others stagger away into the enticing crowd,  putting them beyond
his reach.  Bringing his attention back toward the source of his
attackers, he found the wagon to be no longer in sight.



        He counted himself lucky to have had the foresight to change
shapes before leaving the Rose and Pearls.   He did not wish to
contemplate what repercussions might occur if his actions could be
traced back to the inn.  He was in enough of a bind with his masters.
Shifting again to hide his bloodstained hands and clothing, he slipped
himself into the crowd rather than make explanation to the approaching
city guard.  He had the strange feeling that he would be making a great
number of unpleasant explanations very, very soon and one more was more
than he could bear.



        He moved forward again, his humor improving slightly as he
observed the people around him studiously ignoring the body lying in the
middle of the street.  It was one of New Aveon's more charming aspects
that its citizens were careful to mind their own business and ignore
everyone else's.



        Craning his head above the crowd, he tried to catch sight of
Doran.  Like the wagon, however, she seemed to have disappeared.  He
looked down at the slate in his hand and shrugged.  He would catch up
with her at the Res Arcane.






        Boats.  She definitely did not like boats.  She knew she
definitely did not like boats because the one she was on was making her
incredibly seasick.  


        As her stomach continued to rebel, Doran counted herself lucky
that she hadn't eaten lunch.  She had been going to, but after meeting
with Papa Asher she hadn't any stomach for food.  A sweet sickly smell
lingered in her nostrils, and she coughed to clear her breath.



        Though she felt that her eyes were open, she couldn't she single
thing.  Her world was one of complete darkness.  She thought for moment
that she had gone blind, but as her eyes blinked into focus she could
see a small sliver of light coming from a door to her right.



        What happened? she thought.  She had been walking along, trying
to stop crying before meeting with Anala.  There had been a commotion
behind her, and a wagon had swerved to avoid striking her.  A man had
reached out from the wagon, and she found herself being dragged aboard,
a cloth slapped over her mouth before her consciousness was stolen from
her.  Then, after some unknown time, she awoke in this dark hole, the
festering bowels of some boat, lurching on the waves and smelling like
the dying place of some great sea beast.  The only sounds were her own
breathing, the groans of the hull, and the distant ringing of the harbor
buoys.


        She felt steel at her ankles and wrists, and when she sat up she
heard the unpleasant sound of chains rattling on the wooden deck.  Her
shackles were bolted to a ring in the center of the deck, which a few
hard tugs proved it to be secure.  She reached down to the hem of her
skirt, and felt with disappointment the four small rips where her picks
had been hidden.  Further examination showed that all of her knives were
gone as well, which (considering where at least two of them had been
placed) proved that her kidnappers had no sense of privacy.



        Papa Asher wouldn't be very impressed, Doran thought morosely.
She had been taken completely by surprise.  She had been so wrapped up
in her own cares that she hadn't even seen the wagon until it was right
next to her.  She hadn't even registered the attack on her person fast
enough to use any of the dirty tricks her father and Peregine had taken
such care to teach her.


        Doran rested her chin in her hands and let out a weary sigh.
She felt embarrassed about what had happened, but had no particular
fears.  As soon as Papa realized she never made it to the Res Arcane, it
would be a matter of moments before Uncle Taman did a magical search of
the city and teleported in to rescue her.  


        She looked up to the ceiling when she heard the sounds of
footsteps on the deck above her.  It sounded like at least two people,
one with a heavier tread than the other.



        "She's all secure, just like you ordered," a high-pitched, nasal
sounding voice said.  "Though I can't see why you went to so much
trouble.  She's only one girl."



        "Don't be an idiot, Hugo," a deeper voice answered.  "She's
Asher's daughter.  If she's anything like her father, you'd be a fool to
turn your back on her."



        The footsteps went down a gangway, and she heard the first voice
say, "Well, she's hardly much of a threat now."   The door opened, and a
short, ugly looking man she recognized from her brief glimpse of the
wagon opened the door.  He waved inside another man, whom Doran found
herself involuntarily drawing back from.


        He was stocky, perhaps only two inches taller than Doran
herself, but possessing an imposing musculature.  He wore a sleeveless
shirt, and his arms were bare, displaying an impressive set of tattoos.
His face, in contrast, was aquiline, and could almost be called soft,
until one saw the eyepatch that covered his right eye, and the grim set
of his mouth.  His light brown hair fell in curls down to his shoulders,
and looked at Doran with a gray eye that gave away little of what he was
thinking.  From the lines on his face, she thought him to be about fifty
years of age.



        "Ah, so you're awake, Doran," the man said.  "That is good.  I
was afraid that the sleeping potion might have adversely affected you."
Her captor, despite his warning to the man he called Hugo, seemed little
threatened by her.



        "I'm sorry, Sieur, but we have not been properly introduced,"
she answered politely, sitting up a little straighter.  "I hope you will
forgive me for not standing, but I seem to have been given some unwanted
jewelry."  She raised her hands to display the shackles locked around
her wrists.



        The man snorted in amusement, and gave her a mocking bow.
"Apology accepted, Lady Doran.  I am Audric of Navarre, an acquaintance
of your father."


        "If you know my father, Audric of Navarre, then you also know he
will not be at all pleased to find me like this," Doran said evenly.


        "Your restraints are merely a precaution, Doran," Audric said.
"There are magicks in this room that would prove dangerous to your
health should you be able to move freely."  He motioned with one hand to
the floor, and Doran saw two circles, one within the other, drawn around
where she sat.



        "The inner circle is the reason I have had you secured," Audric
explained.  "It holds a spell that will cause the death of the first
living creature that crosses it.  An unfortunate necessity, but you may
at least be assured that your honor will remain intact while you are
under my care." 


	
	"And the outer circle?" Doran asked.



        "That one is of obscurement," Audric told her.  "Should a mage,
say a certain drow associated with your father, attempt to scan for you,
they will find nothing of interest aboard this boat."



        "You underestimate Taman's skill, I think," Doran said.  Audric
only laughed.



        "Oh, I underestimate nothing," he said.  "The socerors I hired
spilled a great deal of blood to power that circle.  Taman will not find
you, nor any other mage.  Understand, Lady Doran, I have been planning
my entrance into this city for a very long time.  I intend on leaving
nothing to chance."


        "I can see that you have gone to a great deal of trouble,
Audric.  Why?" Doran asked, hoping her question would be answered.
Despite her captor's beliefs, she was not quite defenseless.  And while
there was still a chance she might escape, she intended on gathering as
much information for her father as she could.



        "Should everything go well, your father will tell you the
reasons behind these events, Doran," Audric said, fixing her with a cold
look.



        "And if things do not go well?" she asked, suppressing a shiver
that had nothing to do with the chill of the hold.



        "Then you needn't worry about anything.  Ever," Audric said.  He
turned to leave, leaving a sniggering Hugo to close the door behind him.






        "What do you mean she was never here?" Peregine asked.  He
shoved down the uncharacteristic feeling of panic that was threatening
to rise from his gut.



        "Just as I said, Master Peregine," Anala answered evenly.
Lavender eyes, curly red hair, and a buxom form all served to make her a
particularly fetching example of elven maidenhood.  The body, however,
was matched by an equally keen mind.  Besides being an excellent
herbalist, she was a powerful fire mage as well, and not a woman to be
trifled with.  Or, as Peregine reminded himself, contradicted.


        "I know that you have not seen her, Mistress Anala," he said
carefully.  "But I wondered if she might have stopped in temporarily and
spoken with Trecia, perhaps."



        "Trecia hasn't been in for the past week," Anala said.  "Her
orphanage takes up most of her time these days. I've been in the back
most of the afternoon.  If Doran had been here, I would have heard her
enter."



        "Strange, I was almost certain she planned to pass by here," he
said.  He put Doran's note slate down on the counter, while maintaining
a carefully bland look.  "If you see her, please give back her slate.
She left it at my table when she spoke with me."


        Anala raised an eyebrow in suspicion.  "Master Peregine, what is
going on?  Is Doran in some sort of trouble?"



        "It isn't my place to speculate on the activities of a young
lady," Peregine replied.  Which was a sufficient answer, he thought.
Anala had dealt with Taman and his associates long enough to not to ask
pointed questions.


        "Just so," Anala agreed.   Peregine said his goodbyes to the
shopkeeper and slipped back out into the street, his mind whirling.



        Doran never came here, he thought, making his way back towards
Asher's inn.  In fact, I haven't seen her at all since I was attacked...



	Attacked because I was following her!



        Peregine began to shove his way through the crowd, breaking into
a run when he reached the middle of the street.  The one thought running
through his mind was, Asher is going to skin me alive...





        Smiling in false benevolence, Hugo took the seat at the end of
the council table, after tossing the various knives and thieving
implements he had taken from Doran on its surface.  Leaning back in the
chair with his hands behind his head, he casually swung his mud
encrusted boots onto the table top, making sure to scrape a few
gargantuan globs off on the edge for irritation's sake.  He was enjoying
this and he was going to play it for all it was worth.



        The desk at the opposite end of the table was occupied by Asher,
who had  his elbows hard against the desk top and stared through his
interlocked fingers at the weasel of a man with an executioner's eyes.
Flanking him on either side, there stood a coldfaced drow mage and a
something or someone that never appeared the same each time Hugo looked.
All attention was focused, hard and unmoving, on the little guildman.



        Although he enjoyed being the center of this little universe,
Hugo realized that it might not remain in his peaceful control for much
longer.  The three were looking at him like a trio of hawks sizing up a
particularly plump hare; it might be better if he got about to his
business.  



        Clearing his throat, he looked about at all three.  "Well now.
As you might have guessed, we have your darling daughter, and a sweet
thing she is."  No response came from the three staring statues.  "We
have her some place beyond your reach and she shall remain there until
you have met certain conditions."  Something there that time, the drow
having grimaced in amusement at 'some place beyond your reach'.   


        Hugo held up one finger on his left hand.  "One, you and all of
your henchmen, associates, and various other underlings will leave the
city immediately and will never again involve yourselves in the affairs
in or around New Aveon."  A second finger joined the first.  "All of
your properties, wealth, works of art and other assets in the city
proper will be signed over to our guild."  Adding a cutthroat edge to
his grin, Hugo raised the third and last finger slowly.  "There will be
no response of any kind to our actions outside of those outlined above
by your hand or any other agency.  We have other possible hostages to
back this last demand.  Any questions?"



        His face a hard set, unblinking mask of restrained rage,  Asher
growled, "When will you free the child if I agree to your terms?"


        Hugo sat up, his face taking a pensive air.  Motioning to the
open wine bottle on the table and receiving no denial, he poured himself
a glass and took a sip as he mulled over his reply.  "At our
convenience, after you have met our demands and proven your good faith,
the girl will be returned in good health."


        Knocking his chair backwards, Asher stood and leaned over his
desk, glaring and bristling at the guild toady.  His lips pulled back in
a feral rictus, he snarled, "Now listen to me, you insignificant dung
worm.  I will concede to your demands...  but..."  He punctuated his
statement with a quivering dagger that mysteriously appeared in the
table top, piercing it and nearly Hugo's genitals.  "If I even think
that you have hurt her, I'll have your skulls for chamber pots!  Now
take that back to your masters, whelp."



        Hugo choked on his wine and nearly sent it in a gagging spray
across the table top.  Sliding his seat carefully back and avoiding the
sharp detriment to his favorite bits, he lit his face with his most
fawning yet unnerved smile.  "Yes, milord.  I'll be sure to pass your
acceptance of our offer along to the guild hierarchy."   Sliding from
his seat, he backed up towards the door, not turning his eyes away from
his three wouldbe killers.  Reaching the door, he wrapped his hand
around the latch.  "Well, I'm sorry that I must drink and run.  It has
been pleasure."  Popping the latch, he was gone.






        When the messenger had left, Taman blandly observed,  "As always
Asher, your diplomacy astounds me."


        "Oh, you haven't seen anything yet, Tamanaird," Asher snarled.
He spun in seat to face Peregine, who had stopped shapeshifting and
stood in his normal form, looking as if he rather be anywhere else. 



        "Peregine, I have a question for you," he said with studied
quiet.  "You say you distracted by that fellow's bravos while they
snatched Doran, correct?"


	"Yes, Master Asher," Peregine answered, his face blank.


	"I'm curious that no one came to your aid, or Doran's."



        "People in New Aveon tend to mind their own business," Peregine
observed.



        "Not when it's their business to mind others," Asher said
darkly.   "Where were Doran's shadows while you were following her?"



        "Not there," Peregine said.  He stared straight ahead, his gaze
fixed on the dagger imbedded in the table top.


        "Why not, Peregine?  Were they so blind that they missed her
coming out the door?"


        "No, Master Asher.  They weren't there because I waved them off.
I thought it would be best if I talked to her alone," Peregine added
quickly.



        "You.  Waved.  Them.  Off," Asher said slowly.  "What was so
vital that you needed to talk to her alone?"



        "I needed to apologize to her," Peregine answered.  He continued
to stare at the dagger, wondering if he would feel one of its brothers
within him soon.



	"Why?"  The single word hung in the air for a long moment.



        "After she talked to you, she came to me for an explanation on
your behavior.  I explained what I had done, and why I had done it.  It
made her extremely upset, she was crying, in fact."  No point in holding
back the truth now.



        "I suppose she was still crying when you last saw her?" Asher
asked.  The rage was gone from his face, replaced with a carefully
maintained mask.


	"Yes, Master Asher," Peregine admitted


        "So, her bodyguards were not following her because you waved
them off," Asher said.



	"Yes," Peregine answered.



        "And she probably wasn't paying much attention to what was going
around her because she was so upset," Asher continued.



	"Yes."


        "So when her kidnappers reached her, she was defenseless," Asher
concluded.



	"Yes."



        "So what you're telling me is that basically it was your fault
that she was kidnapped."  Asher held no daggers now.  His hands were
carefully folded together, and face looked utterly calm.  Peregine began
to wonder why he was still alive.



        "Well, that's all right," Asher said carefully.  "Because if one
hair on Doran's head is harmed, one drop of her blood is spilled, you
won't have the pleasure of dying for your mistake."



        "I don't understand, Master Asher," Peregine said, finally
breaking his gaze from the dagger to look at him.



	"Pray that you never find out," Asher said darkly.






        Papa and Taman aren't coming, Doran thought bleakly.  The church
bells had sounded the midnight chimes, and her father and uncle had yet
to arrive to rescue her.  Could it be that Audric's boast about the
power of the obscurement circle was true?  It seemed so.  The dark magic
about it certainly pained her eyes when she looked at it for too long.



        She had been fed about three hours ago, so she at least wasn't
feeling hungry.  One of Hugo's flunkies, whom she had labeled Ugh after
his apparent speech capability, had brought down a watery and cold bowl
of soup, which he had shoved across the deadly inner circle with a
broom.  She had eaten it only to keep up her strength, as she had not
regained her appetite in her hours of captivity.



        Steady yourself, girl, she told herself.  Just because Taman
can't scan for you magically doesn't mean they aren't searching.   Doran
had no doubt the entire Ebon School had been alerted, and was scouring
the city even now.


        But that might not do her much good.  From what little she could
hear in her prison, the boat seemed to be sitting out in the middle of
the harbor.  Such a thing wasn't unusual for a merchant vessel that
wanted to protect its cargo from wandering thieves.  Or in this case,
inquisitive spies.



        Well, if I'm not going to rescued any time soon, I suppose I'd
better start on escaping.  Papa wouldn't expect anything less.  She
looked down at the shackles on her wrists with an inquisitive eye.  They
were secured with padlocks, not riveted, which meant they could be
picked.  The only trouble was, she didn't have any lockpicks.


        Well... she had no lockpicks, but she did have a tool.
Reaching down into the front of her dress, Doran pulled out the small
brass crucifix that she wore on a light metal chain.  Barely four inches
long and lacking any sort of ornamentation, it had escaped her captor's
search.  Slipping the chain over her head, she grasped the crossbar of
the crucifix with two fingers and pulled it back towards her, the top of
the cross digging into the palm of her hand.



        She was rewarded by a small "pop" of a spring, and the sudden
appearance of a three inch long stiletto from the bottom of the
crucifix, as the small brass plate covering it fell to the floor.



        Putting the now empty crucifix back around her neck, she bent
over her right hand shackle, and slipped the tip of the stiletto inside.
What had been given to her by her father as a last ditch weapon might
now serve her as makeshift tool.



        "God helps those who help themselves," Papa Asher had told her
when he'd given her the crucifix for her birthday.  At the time, she had
wondered what bizarre set of circumstances might occur that she would
ever need anything like this deadly holy item.  Now she knew.



        Thank you, Papa.  You wouldn't know how glad I am to have this.
She looked up briefly at the fell circle that surrounded her, then went
back to work.  One problem at a time...






        After a few moments of appraisal, Asher was not, Peregine
finally decided, going to kill him.  Although there had been a few tense
moments, the arrival of the messenger from the encroaching thieves'
guild, so soon after his announcement of Doran's disappearance, had
served to rob the human of his anger.  Now he just looked distracted and
weary.


        "So...," Asher said to no one in particular as he looked off
into space.  He opened his mouth again, as if to offer a comforting
witticism, but finding none, he closed it again silently.  His fingers
rapped a quick tattoo on the desk, before he caught the motion and laid
his palm flat on the wood.



        "Asher...," Taman began, then also fell silent, rather offering
his dire deduction.  He had wandered to the far end of the table and
picked up one of the five knives that Hugo left on the table and was
turning it over silently in his hands.



        "What, Taman?"  Asher responded, his eyes focusing on the
pensive drow.



        Taman's face was a mixture of compassion and sorrow.  "I've
scanned the entire city for Doran and found no sign of her.  It is
entirely probable that..."



        "No."  The weariness left the thief and was replaced with a hard
certainty.



	"Nevertheless...."



        "She's alive, Taman," Asher said firmly.  "She is alive... and
we are going to get her back, and gut these jackals in the process."



        "How?" Peregine asked.  "If we make a move against them, Doran
will die."  He had been dozing like a hunting falcon on a perch, but the
possibility of prey had gotten his notice.


        "The simplest solution, I believe, would be to give them what
they want," Taman said coolly.  "We leave, wait until they return Doran,
make certain there is sufficient security about her and any other
innocents connected to us, and then return to extract our opponents from
New Aveon.  Preferably in the most explosive manner possible."


        "They won't let her go until they're sure they've won the city.
That leaves Doran in their slimy hands for days, perhaps weeks," Asher
growled.  "It's not an option."



        "If you have another, I would welcome it gladly," Taman said,
setting Doran's dagger down with care.  The only reply he received was
an uncomfortably shrug.



        "I have one," Peregine broke in.  Asher shot him a look that
said, This had better be good.  The drow assassin took note of it, and
chose his next words carefully.   "We follow Taman's plan, up to a
point."



        "We aren't leaving the city," Asher insisted.  "Not when I have
to keep track of the search for her."



        "If we're to look for her unhindered," Peregine went on
smoothly, gaining confidence in his idea, "We need to divert their
attention.  Whoever Hugo's master is, his resources in New Aveon can not
be unlimited.  If he thinks we've retreated to Roseford, he won't have
the manpower to waste time to keep watch for us here. He'll be entirely
too busy fighting the guild."



        "I know if we went to Roseford, Taman could teleport us back
easily," Asher interrupted.   "But if we travel overland, as they'll
probably demand, it'll take at least two bloody days!"


        "Yes, but during those two days, you'll be busy conducting your
search," Peregine said, grinning slyly.  Asher responded by leaning over
the table until he was in the drow assassin's face.



        "How can I search.  When I'm on.  The fucking.  ROAD?"  The
thief spat out the words one at a time, his voice rising to a frustrated
roar in the end as his hands gripped the edge of table. 



        "Asher, you tend to forget.  With me around..."  Peregine
paused, and crossed his arms.  His features shifted, warping themselves
about until the master thief faced a duplicate of himself on the other
side of the table.



	"...you really can be in two places at once."



	Asher, for the first time that evening, grinned.






	"Hey!  Wake up ya' little lightskirt!  Time for yer breakfast!"



        Doran let out a sigh and opened her eyes, straightening up
painfully from the crouch her bonds forced her into.  Fully stretching
was impossible, but at least she had enough play to extend one limb at a
time, so she needn't worry about cramping.



        She hadn't gotten a great deal of sleep, having spent most of
the night puzzling out the locks of her shackles.  It hadn't been an
easy task, since she had only the tip of her crucifix stiletto to work
with, but by the time she heard the gulls crying out their morning song
she had succeeding in popping open the lock to her wrist bracelet.  It
had only been with reluctance that she snapped it shut again.  An escape
in the night would be more prudent than going on deck in the daytime,
and she needed time to rest before taking any physical risks.  The
little sleep she had snatched had been interrupted by the stamp of boots
on the deck above her just a few moments ago.



        "A lovely good morning to you as well, Sirrah," she answered,
straightening up.  Ugh was standing by the door, holding her bowl of
soup in one hand and a broom in the other.  His manners, unfortunately,
hadn't improved during the night either.


        "Whatever," he grunted, setting down the bowl.  With the broom,
he shoved it just across the deadly circle, forcing Doran to lean
forward and grab at the lip with her fingertips, her shackles
restricting her reach.  She caught hold of her meal and pulled it back
toward her, while Ugh let out an unpleasant chuckle.



        "Hope yer that nimble when his nibs lets me have a piece of ya,"
Ugh declared.  He leered, and Doran found herself thankful that he was
far enough away that she needn't smell his breath.



        "I doubt if you'll get the chance," she replied. "Your master
wants me to remain unharmed."



	Ugh, laughed.



        "Yah, well now, if your poppa does something stupid, you're more
like to get your throat slit.  But before that, good Master Audric
promised us some fun."


	Doran's eyes narrowed and her lips thinned into a frown.



	"Not while I have my breath within me," she declared.



        "Doesn't matter," the ugly man said, his grin getting wider.
"The other girls Master Audric gave us were nice enough, even after the
sorcerors he'd hired were through with them."



	He laughed cruelly as Doran felt the blood drain from her face.



        "Lord above, yer looking as pale as they did.  Mind ya, yer a
bit more talkative, but I doubt that'll last."   He shouldered his broom
and gave her a cheery wave as he closed the door behind him.



        Doran clenched her fists and took in a deep sigh to settle her
beating heart.  One, two, three breaths and she opened her hands again
to pick up the bowl and bring it to her lips.



        Think and plan, she told herself, gulping down the lukewarm
stew.  Its contents were unidentifiable, which was just as well.  Worry
about what you can do something about, Papa always says, and forget the
rest.



        She lay down on the deck again, and cradled her head in her
arms.  Sleep for now.  Then we'll see how much time I can shave off
picking that lock.






        "You all right, Ears?" Peregine asked Taman.  The drow archmage
was sitting uncomfortably on the saddle of his mare.  From the sour look
on his face and the difficulty he was having in handling his horse,
Peregine could guess that it had been a considerable amount of time
since he had last ridden.  Trying to remember his skills while
negotiating New Aveon's crowded city streets didn't make the task any
easier.


        "I'm fine, Asher," Taman replied, shifting his position to gain
some relief.  "I'm merely reacquainting myself with this particular
animal."



        Peregine nodded, letting Asher's typically lopsided grin cross
his face.  He wore his patron's form, as their plan demanded, while the
thief waited in a hidden room in the cellar of the Rose and Pearls.  As
soon as they had been given enough time to get clear of the city, he
would start his clandestine search.


        "I wouldn't used the term 'Ears' right now," Taman said in a
warning tone.  "It's hardly appropriate given the situation."



	Peregine shrugged.  "Whatever makes you happy, oh Great One."



	Taman bristled, and turned to look Peregine straight in the eye.



        "Considering the seriousness of the situation," he said
carefully, "I find your witty state very curious."



        Peregine took the hint and let the grin slip from his face.
"Just trying to distract myself, old friend.  I want to her back as bad
as you."   Taman nodded, looking more satisfied, and then turned his
attentions back to controlling his mount.



        When they came within sighting distance of Hangman's Gate,
Peregine's eyes narrowed.  Ahead he could see three riders.  The lead,
flanked on either side by two non-descript bravos, spotted them and gave
a cheery wave.   Beside Peregine, Taman stiffened in his saddle as his
red eyes suddenly began to smolder.



        "Who is he?" Peregine asked.  Coming closer, he could see the
rider was a gray-eyed human with tattoos running down his bare arms and
wearing an eyepatch.


        "This explains a great deal," Taman said in a low voice.  "That
is Master Audric, head of Navarre's thieves guild."



        "Not a friend, I take it?" Peregine asked quietly, his lips
barely moving.



        "The reason Asher relocated to New Aveon was due to the fact
that he had come close to destroying Navarre's thieves guild," Taman
stated simply.



        "Ah," Peregine answered.  There was no more time for questions,
as Audric guided his mount forward to meet them at the gate.


        "Asher, Taman," Audric greeted.  "Taking a holiday from the
city, are we?"  From the tone of his voice, one would have thought he
was greeting old friends.  But his single eye told a different story.
There a cruel glint there, as if he was relishing every moment of
discomfort he could draw forth from them.  



        "We found it convenient to leave for a short time, and go to my
manor in Roseford," Peregine said, dropping into Asher's deceptively
soft tones.


        "What a coincidence," Audric exclaimed with false cheerfulness.
"I was just considering expanding my business to your fair city.  A pity
you're leaving.  I was hoping to meet your fair daughter, Doreth, isn't
that her name?"


        "Doran," Taman corrected smoothly, keeping a tight grip on his
saddle horn



        "Doran, yes, thank you," Audric said.  He looked over the pair's
shoulders, as if expecting Asher's daughter to be following them.  "I'm
surprised she isn't with you.  I had heard you were devoted father to
her."



        "She's disappeared.  Much as I'd like to stay and look for her,
unfortunately, we have other demands," Peregine said tightly.  He found
that matching Asher's tone of barely controlled fury was quite easy
right now.



        "That's terrible," Audric said sympathetically.  "If I hear
anything about her, I'll certainly let you know.  In the meantime,
please allow me to give you my two bodyguards here as protection for you
on your trip to Roseford."  He motioned the two bravos forward, who took
station to either side of Taman and Peregine.



        "Thank you," Taman said, glancing at their unwanted escorts with
distaste.  "But that's hardly necessary."


        "Oh, but I insist," Audric said, his voice hardening a fraction.
"The roads can be dangerous to the unprotected.  Why, I've heard that
even in the streets of New Aveon, people can hardly walk about without
being molested.  Every day there's another story about some poor girl
being robbed and beaten.  Sometimes even raped..."


        "If Doran is harmed, you would not want to be present at her
retribution," Taman growled.



        "Well then, it's good that I'm not involved, is it?" Audric
said.  "Just like you aren't involved.  Maybe if you stay uninvolved,
your niece will come back to you.  Someday."



        "It had better be soon, Audric," Peregine said in Asher's voice.
"I'm not a patient man.  And I get angry easily."


        "I'd keep a handle on that anger, Asher," Audric said, his mouth
tightening in a small smile of triumph.  "Terrible things might happen
to the wrong people if you let it loose.  Good day, Sirs."   He turned
his horse about and trotted off, leaving the two bravos to accompany
Taman and Peregine. 






        Asher walked through the fog shrouded streets of New Aveon, the
heavy tread of his boots echoing off the buildings that stood to either
side, their rooftops disappearing into the mist.   Where in the city he
was, he didn't know, for the streets were anonymous in the fog.  All
that he could be sure of is that he dreaded whatever was at the end of
his journey.


        A movement at the edge of his vision made him turn.  From the
barely visible entrance of an alleyway Taman emerged, gliding smoothly
over the cobblestones.  He turned to greet him, but the drow raised his
hand in warning.



        "Don't go in, old friend," he warned.  His dark face was lined
with an infinite sorrow.


        "I have to," Asher answered, his own voice sounding strange in
his ears.



        "All that lies within this place is pain," Taman said, his red
eyes reflecting a formless void.



	"I've known pain, Taman," Asher said.  "I can face it again."


        "Not like this," the drow answered.  But he stepped aside and
let the thief pass.



        Asher blinked when he crossed the alley's threshold.  There was
even less light here than out in the foggy street.  Garbage and less
savory piles of refuse lined the walls, and a noxious smell pervaded the
entire place.



        He walked further in and saw, sticking out from a large pile of
rotting and stained sheets, a single bare leg.  He moved closer, and saw
the outline of a body underneath the linens.



        Don't uncover it, a voice said, not Taman, but his own mind
speaking now.  You shall regret finding what you seek.



        "I have to know," he told the voice.  Not to know was to wonder
forever.



        He began to pull the sheets away.  The final one was stained a
deep, terrible red.  He yanked it away with one quick motion, revealing
the bloody thing that lay beneath.



        The body of a young girl lay before him.  One arm covered her
face, as if to ward off a blow, but there was nothing to protect her
nakedness.   Blood, drying brown and crusting, ran down from her slit
throat and over her naked breasts.  Another slit crossed her belly, and
her entrails spilled out from it onto the dirty cobblestones of the
alley.  Her legs were splayed wide, and it was obvious she had been
violated repeatedly before she'd died.



        Asher kneeled down beside her and took hold of the young girl's
hand.  With a careful motion he lifted her arm away from her face and
saw Doran's eyes, her deep blue eyes.  As they had been in life, they
were wide open, with an infinite gentleness to them, but now they stared
at nothing.


	And her hand was so terribly cold...



	"NO!"



        Asher awoke with a start, bolting upright in the hardwood chair
where he'd sprawled, sending the tray holding the remains of  his dinner
flying into the dark of the cellar.  His eyes blinked once, and he
slipped the knife that had unconciously appeared in his hand back in its
sheath, blowing out a tension filled breath as he sat back down.



        "Damn.  I'm getting old," he said to the darkness.  Against his
own expectations, he had fallen asleep after eating the dinner Brigit
had brought down for him.  He hadn't thought he'd be able to sleep at
all, though the nightmare he had just undergone proved there was no way
he'd rest easy.  



        The thought of arriving to late to help Doran haunted his mind
at every moment, sleeping or waking.  He had grown up a street rat, and
knew, or had been, every form of predator that crawled in the gutters of
a city.  There were uncountable ways for this crisis to end, and
precious few of them left his daughter alive.



        Evening is coming, he reassured himself.  Peregine and Taman
will be clear of the city soon and I can start searching.  His fingers
itched for want of action, and he busied himself gathering up the
scattered plates and utensils off the floor.



        There was an irregular knock at the door to his hiding place.
Asher took note of the pattern and turned towards the door, his knife
dropping into his hand again.



	"It is Brigit," a low voice called. 


        "Come in," Asher said, relaxing.  The secret door opened to
admit the large woman.  Her face was as impassive as always, but there
was a tension in her movements that suggested to the thief that she was
as anxious for the night as he was.



        "A man come a little while ago," Brigit told him, ducking
through the door.  "He said Stickyfoot will come calling soon."



        "Did you tell him I had left the city?" Asher asked.  This was a
strange development.  Stickyfoot was the head of New Aveon's thieves
guild, and at moment was likely trying to figure out how to avoid an all
out war in his streets.  The fact that he wished to meet with Asher now
of all times was very curious.



	"He said Stickyfoot had heard you left.  That's why he come."



        Asher gave Brigit a curt nod, and dismissed her.   The fact that
Stickyfoot guessed he was still here bothered him greatly.   It meant he
also likely figured out that they had used Peregine's shapeshifting
ability to perform a ruse.  



        And if one guildmaster could guess that, so could another, Asher
thought, images of his nightmare involuntarily rising to his mind.



        There was another knock, this time coming from the concealed
door that led into the sewer system.  The sudden noise nearly made Asher
jump out of his skin, though this time he managed to keep his hands free
of any weapons.



	"Who's there?" he called out.


        "Not a friend, but not an enemy either," a voice answerd.  "You
going to open the door or not?  There are things that concern us both
that we need to discuss."



        Asher walked over to the door and touched a particular brick on
the wall.  There was a soft 'click', then he shoved the concealed door
open, letting the stench of the sewers into his hiding place.  Looking
up, he saw the head of New Aveon's thieves guild standing on the curved
wall of the sewer, politely defying gravity while waiting to be
admitted.



        Stickyfoot was a halfing of average hieght for his race, a
little under four feet tall.  He had curly brown hair cut close to his
head, and was dressed in dark leathers that were likely enchanted for
extra protection.  As was customary amoung hobbits, he was barefoot, his
calloused feet having only a thick layer of hair on the top of them for
protection.  There was a smile on his face, but it was there only out of
politeness for a professional colleague, not any sort of friendship.



        "You can come in," Asher told him. Stickyfoot nodded and walked
along the wall, stepping over the top of the doorfarme and walking along
the ceiling until he stood in the middle of Asher's hiding place.  The
old thief closed the door behind him, taking a seat and looking over the
guildmaster carefully.



        Stickyfoot was only the halfling's street name, coming about
from his perculiar trait of walking only on the ceilings or walls of
buildings.  Though Taman had scanned the halfing repeatedly in the years
they had known him, no explanation for his particular abilty had ever
been uncovered by the drow.  It was a tribute to the guildmaster's
misdirection and paranoia that Asher had never been able to find out his
true name either.



        "So what brings you here, Stickyfoot?" Asher asked.  "I thought
you'd be busy fighting a street war."



        "Preparing for one," Stickyfoot answered, sitting 'down' into a
lotus position.  "Our mutual enemy is still bringing in his troops.  He
isn't quite ready for a fight yet, I don't think.  He still isn't sure
about whether we'll be able to bring in reinforcements against him,
which is what brought me to you."



        "You want to hire the Ebon School members that are in New Aveon,
don't you?" Asher surmised.


        "Correct," Stickyfoot agreed.  "I though you might be willing
to, considering that Audric is no friend of yours.  And the good Lord
only knows that you'll have me pay a dear amount of coin for their
services."



        "The Ebon School isn't for hire, not now," Asher told him
gravely.  "Maybe in time, but not right now."



        "Oh for Heaven's sake, Asher.  You aren't going to let Audric's
little threat sheath your claws.  Otherwise why are you here, instead of
crawling on your belly back to your estate?"



        "Audric?"   My enemy has a name, he thought.   So his old
guildmaster had come to pay a visit.  Well, at least now he knew who he
was facing.  It wasn't much of an advantage at this stage of the game,
but it was something.



	"I take it you know him?" Stickyfoot asked.



	"How did you find out about what's happening?" Asher demanded.



        "Don't perspire like that," Stickyfoot advised.  "You humans
sweat buckets when you're under pressure."



        "Quit sparring with me," Asher warned.  "I'm sick of people
bantering while my daughter's life is at stake."



        Stickyfoot responded by raising his hands in suplication, an act
that would have been more impressive to Asher if the halfling had been
right side up.



        "The Ebon School doesn't have a monopoly on spies in New Aveon,
only on the level of skill.  It was fairly easy for me to guess what was
going on, once it was reported that you, Taman and Peregine had
dissapeared after Audric had arrived.  It happened so soon after that
local weasel Hugo came calling that the situation could be a
coincidence"



        "Do you think Audric knows?" Asher asked, feeling a chill in his
bones.  Peregine's dissapearance was the one flaw in their plan.  Their
only hope had been that the assassin's normally low profile would have
let him be discounted by Audric and his spies.



        "That I couldn't tell you.  I've only a managed to infiltrate a
few local bravos into his organization.  He seems to have imported most
of his help."



        "The question is, how?"   This had been bothering Asher greatly.
His Ebon School spies had been caught completely flat-footed by Audric's
sudden appearance.  When he had the time, the thief reflected, he'd have
to either revise some of the teaching methods the school favored, or
roll some heads.  Possibly both.



        "I could tell you, if I could be sure I'd have a little help in
the coming hostilities."  Stickyfoot's face was saturine, awaiting
Asher's decision.



        "When I know Doran is safe, you'll have me, Taman, Peregine, and
the entire Ebon School behind you, that I swear.  The only thing that
I'd ask of you is that Audric live long enough for me to rip his heart
out," Asher answered gravely.  "But while my daughter is in his hands,
mine are tied.  I don't even dare contact any of my students, lest he
find out and make Doran pay."



        "I understand, and I thank you for your assurances" Stickyfoot
said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.  "It is a shame Audric chose to
make Doran a part of this.  Relatives can make these situations so
complicated.  I think that's why I disowned all of mine."  He stood up,
and walked a little closer to Asher.



        "Here's a bit information for you then," the halfling said.
"From what I've been able to gather, Audric's people have been here in
force for about two days.  The day before they arrived, three ships
entered the harbor, claiming to have come from Londonium."



        "So you think Audric's people came aboard those boats?" Asher
demanded.



        "I couldn't say one way or another," Stickyfoot told him
carefully.   "But according to my people working the docks, they didn't
unload much cargo for ships that big, and with their draft, they would
have never made up the Thames to reach the city anyway."



        "Really, now?" Asher said, a feral grin starting to creep onto
his face.  "Well, well.  That does look like it might be worth looking
into, doesn't it?"



        "I hope that'll be enough, for now," Stickyfoot said warily.
"More than that will cost you."



        "Oh, it's enough," Asher said, his grin getting wider.  "It's
quite enough for now."  He said his goodbyes to Stickyfoot, closing the
cellar door behind the perpendicular halfling with a thuimp.



	"Hold on, Doran," he said into the darkness.  "Papa'll save you"



	He prayed he wasn't lying...






        The watered wine was weak but somehow remained eminently sour,
twisting Hugo's mouth into a tight knot.  Yet, it was the best to be had
in this Lowside tavern and even more important, the only drink that he
could afford anywhere on his guild stipend.



        The scope of his operation and the great number of hired
operatives was putting a serious drain on Audric's resources and the
guildmaster was doling out coin a copper at a time.  Hugo was being
forced to live frugally and that was not at all to his liking. However,
the cheap wine was having its desired effect.  The little man could feel
the tension being leached from his neck and shoulders by the dilute
alcohol but leaving him clear headed enough to be acutely aware of
everyone and everything in his shabby surroundings.



        He'd been at the gate when 'Asher' and the drow mage had made
their way from the city with a couple guild muscleboys.  From a
discretely concealed vantage point,  he'd watched as Audric met the grim
pair and baited them with the guild's apparent victory.  The
guildmaster's taunts had set Hugo's nerves on edge.  Even though he knew
him only by reputation, Asher was not a man to be trifled with lightly.
He had been cornered before and had always found a means to escape as
well as strike back at his enemies.  There was no indication that things
would be any different this time and Audric's gloating was sure to add
to the vitrol of Asher's response.


        Shaking his head in mild despair, he brought his cracked glass
again to his lips when a stray thought intruded.  What if it wasn't
Asher that left the city?  His memory drifted to the shapeshifting thing
in attendance at his meeting with the master thief.  Could that thing
impersonate someone to perfection? More likely than not, and that would
mean...    He shuddered visibly at the distinct image of Asher skulking
about with murder on his mind.  Things may get very ugly very soon...   



        He slammed back the rest of the wine in a massive gulp, sending
red rivulets of it running out from the corners of his mouth.  Gagging a
the sharp taste, he wiped at his lips and let the glass roll from his
fingers onto the table.  



        I wonder if Audric knows about the 'shifter?  Hugo thought.
He's never said anything about it.  A smile slowly began to creep across
the weasle-like man's face.  He may be in for a very rude surprise...
He looked about at his rough surroundings and the empty bottle of cheap
wine sitting forlornly at the table's edge.  With a swipe of his hand,
he knocked it aside, letting it crash onto the floor.  ...and
considering what I a getting paid for this job, I won't ruin it for him.
He stood, pausing to wipe the dust from his clothing.  But as soon as
things turn the way of this place's wine my relationship with Audric is
over, and he can face the consequences alone.






        Night had finally come with its cooling breezes and concealing
darkness.  The interminable day had seemingly dragged on, making the
sweating bowels of the ship a sweltering dungeon.   Doran had consumed
all of the brackish water in the dirty bucket provided earlier in the
day, and had nearly stripped for some relief from the sticky heat.
However, Ugh's frequent visits and leering eyes had banished the idea.
She did not want to further stoke his already lurid anticipations.  Only
now with a sea breeze wafting through the open portal to the upper
decks, it was becoming somewhat bearable.   She no longer felt like one
of the steamed crabs at the Rose and Pearls and the heavy stench of the
place was beginning to thin a bit.  



        Not to say that I intend to stay in these accomodations, she
thought with a wry smile.  With the edge of her skirt, she mopped the
sweat from her brow and looked again to her manacles.  The day in the
darkened hold had sharpened her eyes and she could easily see the
scratches in the thick metal from her earlier attempts.  Before moving
ahead, she paused to listen intently and was rewarded with only the
labored groans of the ship rolling in the light harbor waves.   With all
appearing as if she would be undisturbed for a time,  Doran reached into
her bodice, unlatched the stiletto from the rest of the crucifix and set
to work on her restraints. 



        With a few practiced twists of the knife point, the restraint
about her left wrist opened with a satisfying pop.  Seconds later, it
was joined by the one about her right wrist and then after another
moment, her right ankle was free as well.  However,  the lock of the
remaining manacle was more worn than the others and their was a great
deal of play in its loose workings.  Biting her lip, Doran tried again
and again, carefully nudging everything into place and hoping not to
have something slip at critical moment and ruin the entire attempt.
Fighting frustration and the increasing unladylike urge to express
herself with some of her father's more colourful metaphors, she calmly
kept to the task until Lady Fortuna looked away from her.



        The heavy boom of the sea hatch being opened on deck echoed down
the gangway into the hold.  Doran could make out the muffled, confused
mutterings  of a drunk and then the satisfying clamor and howls of
someone stumbling clumsily down the ladder, followed by a hollow thud as
they smacked into the deck.   Listening to the low moan of pain that
resulted, she muttered under her breath, " Oh bloody hell...," and
focused on the stubborn manacle with greater purpose. 



        Ugh's slurred voice drifted down the gangway as further
incentive.  "Aww..lass..I wassh justa  comin' to see ya....no need ta
move the stairs....."  He let out a groangrunt and the sound of heavy,
swaying steps began, coming towards the hold.  "Thought to offer ya a
little nip...make ya a little more friendly and co...cooperative."  He
began a coarse chuckle as he stepped into the hold's hatchway and the
sound of it caused Doran to glance up nervously from her work.  His
puffy pox scarred face was flushed redder than usual by the liquor and
his flat black, porcine eyes were filled with a dull bestial need.
Leaning heavily against the hatch, he half-heartedly proffered the
bottle.  "See...here's the 'appy stuff that make everytin' all
right...."  He chuckled knowlingly to himself but his humor left him
quickly when he truly looked at Doran.  Seeing three of her manacles
unlatched and her hunched over the fourth, it was no stretch even for
Ugh's liquor clouded mind to understan was happening, even though his
bellowed words indicated otherwise.  "What in the hells are you
doing!?!"    Smashing the bottom of the bottle against the bulkhead, he
lurched violent forward with his makeshift weapon, obviously intent on
stopping her regardless of the sorcerous circle.



        With one last paniced twist, Doran popped the manacle with Ugh
two paces from the circle's edge.  Not rising from her crouch, she
snapped her arm back and lofted the little blade at the onrushing thug.
It bit deep into the soft spot just inside his left knee.  Screaming and
unbalanced from the sudden pain, he fell headlong into the circles,
breaking their boundaries and smearing some of the gory symbols. 



        The outer circle's sorcery passed quietly out of existence, but
not so the lethal inner one.  Doran had to shield her eyes as its entire
circumference flashed a hellish, glowing vermillion, infused with
sorcerous power.  The glowing energy rushed around the arc and
disappeared into its hapless victim, who struggled like an insect
beneath a pin.  His eyes bulged out in frenzied agony and pleading for
release, he thrashed about as the diabolic power began to radiate from
within his chest, burning him from the inside out.  As the odor of
brimstone and charring human flesh saturated the air, Doran watched Ugh
be consumed in a matter of seconds, leaving only a fine powdery ash and
the slag of her little blade.



        Stunned and sickened by the rowdy's rapid consumption, Doran
swayed unsteadily on her feet, momentarily unsure of what to do next.
Only the threatened rise of her gorge brought on by the odure of the
horror snapped sense back into her.  Rather than allow herself to
collapse completely, she stepped carefully about the man's remains and
rushed from the hold.  Reaching the ladder to the upper deck, she gulped
lungfuls of the cool air, flowing through the open hatch, until she
could no longer taste sulphur.  Steadied in mind and body, she crept
slowly up the ladder to peek out at the upper deck.


        From her position just forward of the poop deck,  Doran could
see little about the ship other than the rigging overhead.  It was well
enough lit by lanterns hung out in strategic places about the deck, but
everything was hidden by the massive stacks of assorted crates and loose
cargo piled up and awaiting to be unloaded for sale in the city's
markets.  From the deck above, she could hear the muted conversation of
several voices and from somewhere forward, the odor of cheap tabacco and
even cheaper ale drifted back to her.  She grimaced at not being able to
see her enemies and cast a longing glance at the ship's portside railing
not a score of feet away.  However, the entire straight-line distance
lay in the bright light of the lanterns.



        Doran considered her options.  I could make a break for it and
dive over the side, but with my luck of late, one of Audric's goons will
have a bow and get a shot off.  I can't say I relish the idea of a swim
across the harbor with an arrow stuck in me.  She glanced again at the
loosely piled cargo lying nearby and casting heavy shadows on a wide
area of the deck.  Or I can do as Papa says,  'Let stealth protect you
whenever it can.'   She thought a moment about her adopted father's wide
and varied career.  I think his experience speaks for itself.



        Crawling from the hatch, she slithered across the highly
polished deck into the rough maze made by the cargo.  She stopped short,
hiding in the shadows of a crate that was still a good ten feet from her
goal.  Unfortunately it was also the last bit of cover available.



        Doran muttered a curse under her breath.  There was simply too
much light for her to make a proper escape.  One quick run and she'd
been in the water, after making a big enough splash to gain the
attention of anyone in hearing distance.  She figured she might be able
to swim about twenty feet before the crew spotted her and she saw
crossbow bolts striking the water.



         From the direction of the bow, she heard voices coming towards
her.  She stilled her breath and listened with care.


        "Go check on what Tom is up to, boy," she heard a voice growl.
It was lowpitched and unfriendly, though sounding more intelligent than
Ugh's had been.  "If that fool has damaged our cargo, it'll all our
throats."



        "Yes, Sir," another voice answered dejectly.  This one was
younger, with an adolescent squeak.  Its owner rounded the corner, and
Doran saw a skinny looking boy, all knees and elbows, walking with a
slump towards the hatch, and passing not four feet away from her.  He
paused at the hatch, glancing down at it, then back towards the bow,
obviously trying to figure which would be worse, disobeying a superior's
order or interrupting a possible rape.  From hunted look on his face,
Doran guessed his was the lowest amoung the crewmembers, and likely the
least respected.



        Suddenly, an idea of how she might get off the ship came to her
head.  It was certainly more than a little cruel, but it was the best
chance she had of getting out of here.


        The boy made his decision, and stepped gingerly down the ladder
into the hold, obviously intent on spying on her late gaoler and
reporting back without interrupting him.  Doran followed, snatching a
length of coiled rope off the deck before heading down the ladder
herself after him.



        Putting the rope down, she clasped her hands behind her back as
if they were bound and stepped into shadows of a corner.  The boy was
standing before the closed door of the old, one ear pressed against it
in attempt to listen for a clue rather than open it.



        "Water," she pleaded in a whispering rasp.  "Please, Sir.  Just
a little water before he wakes up."  She put on her best doeeyed
expression, and forced her eyes to tear just a little.  The boy turned
to see her, a girl in a filthy dress, with a face that was still
beautiful despite the past two day's hardships, who was helpless and in
need of someone's aid.


        In the years she had worked in her father's inn, it had come to
Doran's attention that if someone started off a conversation whispering,
the party they were speaking to would inevitably whisper as well, even
if there was no logical reason to do so.  The observation had pleased
her immensely, especially after Papa had admitted he had never realized
it himself.  It pleased her even more now, as the boy answered in a
conspirital hush.



        "You the cargo everbody's been talking about?" he asked, his
eyes widening.  She nodded, letting a shudder cross her body, as if she
was ready to break into a sobbing fit.  



        "Oh, no!" the boy whispered.  "Don't cry, I'll get you some
water."  He turned away, snatching up a bucket and dipping it into a
fresh water barrel.  He raised to her lips, and she drank it greedily,
not realizing until now just how thirsty she had become during the heat
of the day.


	"Thank you," she said gratefully as he put the bucket down.



        "That's a'right," the boy answered.  He looked at her fretfully.
"I wish I could untie you, but I'd get into terrible trouble if somebody
found out."


        "I know," she said, silently damning herself.  She was having
entirely too much fun at the boy's expense.  Better to end this quickly,
before it got any worse.  "Could you hold me then, please?  Just hold
me."



        "A'right," the boy whispered.  He placed his arms gingerly
around her shoulders, as Doran buried her face in his neck and brought
her own arms around him.  The poor boy barely had enough to time to
register that the bound girl was now inexplicably hugging him, before
she grabbed a firm hold of his neck and rapped his skull neatly against
the bulkhead.



        He let out one quiet, "Oof!" before sliding down the wall to
rest unconcious in a sitting position.  To Doran's eyes he seemed to be
breathing normally, which helped assuage her guilt as she stripped his
clothes off, leaving him naked save for his undershorts.  She quickly
pulled off her dress and put his clothes on, feeling thankful that his
shirt was billowy enough to hide her feminine aspects.  Her blond hair
she covered with his kerchief, hiding the excess under the collar of her
shirt.


        With that done she picked up the coil of rope she had dropped
and soon had her unwilling benefactor hogtied securely.  The remaining
rope she wrapped around her waist and hid under her shirt.  Using his
knife, she cut a strip from her abandoned dress and gagged him.  At this
point she wasn't about to risk him waking up too early and shouting the
alarm before she escaped.


        "I am so terribly sorry," she said to him, ducking down to plant
a kiss on his cheek.  When this adventure was over, she wasn't going to
look forward to her confession with Father Amaltheus.  She suspected
that a few Hail Mary's weren't going to be quite enough to cover her
actions of the past few minutes. 



        Doran made her way up onto the deck, walking away from the
covering shadows and into the light of the lanterns.  She was careful to
keep her head down, as her disguise was nowhere near enough to stand a
close inspection.  Walking with studied casualness, she turned towards
the stern of the ship.



	"Hey, boy!"  


        Doran stiffened as she heard the boy's superior call out to her.
She edged into the shadows as best she could, and turned around towards
the voice.


        "Yes, Sir?" she called out, trying to speak in the boy's squeak.
For a brief moment, she thanked the AllFather for the pain of
adolesence.  At this time of the boy's life, his voice would be all over
over the octave range, explaining away any oddities in her imitation of
him.



	"I told you to check on Tom and the cargo!  What's going on?"



	"Tom's sleeping, Sir," Doran answered.  "He hasn't touched her."


        "He bloody well better not have," the man muttered.  "Get back
to scrubbing the deck, boy."



        "Aye, Sir," she answered.  Doran turned away, only to stop when
the man cried out again.



        "Your bloody bucket and mop are at the bow, you bloody
halfwit!"



        "I'm sorry, Sir," she answered, the nervous squeak not much of
an imitation now.  "I have too... you know..."


        "Oh, hell.  That's all I'd need, you pissing yourself all over
the deck," the man said in exasperation.  "Get you business done then,
and be quick about it!"


        "Aye, Sir," Doran answered meekly.  She continued on her way
towards her goal, the gardrobes that hung off the stern of the ship.
Slipping inside the port side one, she let out a sigh of relief.  She
was almost away, though the next part of her journey wouldn't be
particularly pleasant.



        Sanitation for a vessel at sea were, at best, basic.  The
gardrobe was a prime example of this.  All it consisted of was a small
booth that hung over the side of the vessel, with a hole cut in the seat
inside.  The waste was simply allowed to fall into the water, to swept
away by the currents of the sea, or gradually sink to the bottom in the
case of a ship in the harbor.



        Doran unwound the rope from about her waist, and tied one end
around the sitting board.  This was relatively easy, since the board
could be lifted up to allow the bottom part of the seat to be
periodically cleaned.  The free end of the rope she let drop down,
falling just three feet short of the waterline.


        Turning the sitting board lengthwise to allow her passage, she
wrinkled her nose and began to lower herself down the rope.  The sound
of her purloined breeches rubbing against the rough hemp seemed
unnatually loud to her ears, but when she paused halfway down she heard
no reaction from above.



        Finally, her toes touched the water, and she lowered herself
further, until she was up to her hips in it.  She let go and dropped the
rest of the way, the quiet splash of her entry no louder than the sound
of the water slapping against the sides of the ship.  She paused for a
long moment, listening intently for any sound of alarm, then quietly
pushed herself away from the ship and began to swim in slow, gentle
strokes towards the docks.



	I'm free!






        "So tell me," Peregine asked as they sat around the campfire.
"Did you join up with Audric's guild out sheer of stupidity, or because
raping sheep was getting too dull?"



        Taman hid a wince, and shot another warning glance towards
Peregine, who still wore Asher's guise.  The assassin had turned baiting
their unwanted escorts into a new pastime, one that he was enjoying
entirely too much.



        The mage could scarely blame him though.  Audric's preparations
for their trip had been both paranoid and efficient.  Every two hours or
so, their escorts were approached by someone whom they did not
recognise, but who knew them without hesitation.  An exchange of
passwords was made, never the same set twice, and then they continued on
their way.  These checks assured that Taman and Peregine could not
simply dispose of the two bravos and teleport back to New Aveon to aid
Asher in his search.  Presumably their contacts had means of sending a
message to Audric, and if that vital message was not received Doran
would suffer the consequences.


        "Maybe not sheep then," Peregine went on, holding a stick with a
sausage on one end over the fire.  "Your mother perhaps?  No?  Perhaps
your father was prettier."



        "Asher," Taman growled softly.  "You are not helping the
situation."  The mage was willing to up his opinion of the two men's
competency by a notch or two.  They had endured the assassin's insults
with nary a twitch, keeping careful poker faces as Peregine proceeded to
insult their ancestary, probable sexual habits, and size of their
manhoods.



        He decided he could hardly blame the shapeshifter for trying to
relieve himself of some tension.  Their escorts were minor cogs in
Audric's plan, but they were the only targets within reach.  Audric
himself was untouchable, especially with what he was threatening to do
to Doran...


        Admit it to yourself, Taman thought with a trace of bitterness.
What he already has done.  The drow mage had scanned New Aveon
repeatedly since they had left, and still there was nothing, nothing
that gave a clue to the whereabouts to Asher's daughter.  


        Taman was an archmage.  The likelyhood of someone creating a
shield that could withstand his probings were at best remote.  Not
unless they were a soceror willing to spill gallons of blood to acheive
their ends.



        Doran is dead, and we are merely playing out this game because
Asher cannot yet admit the truth to himself.  He gripped his hands
together to keep them from forming a mage bolt to fling at the two
humans.  To attack them would do no good now.  Better to swallow his
anger.  Better to save it for a time when it could best be put to use.



        Child, wherever your soul rests now, I will promise you this.
Together, Asher and I will build a funeral pyre for you that will be
seen from New Aveon to Navarre to Londonium, and all the way to the
heart of the Old Empire itself.  And its flames will be fed with the
bodies of Audric and all of those who dared believe in him and his
foolish ambitions.


        He closed his eyes and let his mind drift, blocking out the
fire, the bravos, Peregine, and all the other distractions of the camp.
With practiced concentration he reviewed all the spells he was
maintaining.  Most were ones of warning and protection, cast about
himself.  He habitually kept these up, to the point of often forgetting
about them if he didn't force himself to undergo these periodic reviews.


        One stood out, the searching spell he had cast during the
initial period when Peregine had arrived, announcing that Doran may have
been kidnapped, only to followed on his heels by the odious Hugo, who
confirmed the assassin's suspicions and had left.  In retrospect, the
mage wished he had thought to trace Hugo, if only to discover where
Doran's body lay, but now it was too late.



        Taman examined the spell.  Its direct focus on one subject drew
little energy from him, but there was no reason for it to be maintained
now.  The spell searched for a living soul, not a dead husk lying in
some forgotten place.  With a heavy heart he decided to cancel it, after
one more search.  He owed Doran and Asher at least that much.



        He let his conciousness focus totally on the spell, directing it
once again to sweep across New Aveon and beyond, searching for the one
soul he desired to see.



        It was a measure of his surprise that he nearly nearly dropped
all of his spells, so rattled was his concentration when he saw a bright
spark in the currents of magic that swirled around the city.  A spark
that belonged to one unique, and undeniably living person.


        When he opened his eyes, he found Peregine and the bravos all
staring at him silently.  All no doubt wondering what had brought the
quiet smile of triumph to his face.



        "Peregine," he said softly.  "Would you do me the favor of
entertaining our guests?  I have business in the city to attend to."



        Peregine's own smile appeared on his face, as he shifted shape
from Asher's human form to his own.



        "I would be delighted," he replied with a small bow.  Taman
barely had time to register the bravos' reactions of surprise, before he
teleported away to leave them to their fate.






        Asher swam with measured and quiet strokes across the fetid
waters of the harbor.  He wore a suit of black silk, not heavy enough to
be an encumbrace on his little evening swim, and soft leather slippers
on his feet.  Scattered about his body were the various tools of his
trade, a few knives, a set of lockpicks, climbing spikes, a sap, and a
garotte for quiet work.  



        The past few hours had been busy.  After Stickyfoot had left, he
had wasted no time emerging from his hiding place and making his way
towards the harbor, keeping to the shadows all the way.  Breaking into
the harbormaster's office had been simplicity, the only complication
coming from a guard outside.  



        He had been quickly dispached with a touch of the sap to his
neck.  A bottle of brandy that Asher had borrowed from the Rose and
Pearls' cellar, its contents liberally sprinkled around the guard's
person, had assured that the thief's trail had been muddied.



        Once inside he had quickly examined the harbormaster's records.
Every ship that came to port had to report to this office, informing the
harbormaster of what dock it was using, or what section of the harbor it
was currently anchored at.  Such precautions were a nessisity to provide
safe passage for the amount of traffic New Aveon saw, not to mention in
deciding the mooring fees a ship would be charged during its stay.



        Soon Asher found what he needed, the location of three ships
registered under the same trading company, reporting that they had
arrived from Londonium after passing the through the straights and into
the MedTerran.  Taking note of their names and location, he slipped out
of the building as quietly as he had come and dropped off the edge of a
nearby dock into the water.



        Now the three vessels were in sight, black shapes rising above
the black water, outlined in the light of the moon.  The deck of each
one were brightly lit by lanterns, and Asher could see boxes of cargo
scattered about.  


        He paused, letting his body bob in the water, listening
carefully to the occasional mutter of voices from the sailors stuck
aboard while their mates caroused in New Aveon's streets.  The most
difficult part of this rescue would be determining exactly which of the
vessels Doran was being held on.  While he was fully prepared to board
all of them if it was nessasary, such an action would triple the risk of
the sailors being alerted.  There was no telling what their orders
concerning their prisoner were in that circumstance.



        This was all assuming, of course, that the ships were where
Doran was being held.  While he had sat waiting in the cellar, Brigit
had reported people discussing a Public Works wagon being abandoned by
the docks.  Though it was good evidence Doran was on Audric's ships,
there was no gaurantee that the little bastard Hugo wasn't clever enough
just to leave it there as a diversion.



        Enough.  Worry about what you can do something about,  Asher
decided.  He left his musings behind and listened.



        After nearly a halfhour's wait, he was rewarded by a rough
voice calling out from the ship to the right from were he floated.



        "Go check on what Tom is up to, boy," a lowpitched, unfriendly
voice called out.  "If he's damaged our cargo it's all our throats."



        Asher was too far to make out the faint reply, but the order was
enough evidence for him.  He began to swim towards the ship, as a not
unpleasant anger being to boil within him.



        Cargo indeed, he thought.  That's my daughter you're speaking
of, you motherless bastard.  Though you got the bit about the throats
right enough.



        He swam up to the bow of the ship, grabbing hold of its anchor
chain to rest for a moment and listen further.  There were no more than
half a dozen sailors aboard, he judged, listening closely to sounds of
walking footsteps and muttered converstation.



        Just enough to make things interesting, he thought with grim
amusement.  Not enough to be much of a threat if he could take them out
one by one, but if an alarm was sounded, he would be hard pressed to
protect himself and reach Doran at the same time.



        Right, let's get at it then.  He shinnied up the anchor chain
until his body rested just a foot above the water.  Pausing for a
moment, he let the water drip away from his body before continuing
futher.  It wouldn't do for him to get on deck and alert everyone by
splashing about.



        Reaching the end of the chain, he poked his face above edge of
the top deck.  There was one man here at the bow.  He sat with his back
resting against the railing, playing idly with a backgammon set and
rubbing his eyes as he attempted to stay awake.



        The first one, Asher thought grimly.  He slipped a knife into
his hand and got to work...






        Five minutes later there were four bodies behind Asher and no
alert yet sounded.  He was halfway down the the deck, about amidships,
when he reached his fifth target.   It was the man who had ordered the
cabin boy down into the hold.  He stood near the cargo hatch, waiting
impatiently for the boy to show himself.



        Asher paused in the shadow of a crate, waiting himself to see
what the boy's report would be.  After about a minute, there was the
sound of movement from below, and a figure dressed in ragged breeches
and a loose shirt emerged, turning towards the stern.



	The man called out, demanding a report.



        "Tom is sleeping, Sir," the boy answered.  "He hasn't touched
her."  The boy's voice had gone up a notch or two to Asher's ears,
almost sounding girlish.  The thief wondered if the child was telling
the whole truth of the matter.  God help his soul if he wasn't.



        "He better well not have.  Get back to scrubbing the deck," the
man ordered.



        "Aye, Sir," the cabin boy answered.  He turned away, only to
stop when the sailor called out again.



	"Your bloody mop and bucket are the bow, ya bloody halfwit!"



        The boy protested, claiming he had to use the gardrobe, and the
man's derisive answer was enough for Asher to decide he'd spare the
boy's life.  He sounded young enough not to have any direct involvement
in Doran's imprisonment, and the old thief wasn't in the habit of
slaughtering children at any rate.



        The cabin boy went off to do his business, and the sailor turned
back to head towards the bow, probably to wait for the boy and chew him
out more.  He passed by Asher's hiding place, and the thief quietly
padded after him.



        The sailor had no time to react as Asher clamped his hand over
the man's mouth and brought his knife up to his neck.  The man went
stock still, not daring to move.



        "Do you believe in Heaven and Hell, boyo?" Asher whispered into
the man's ear.  When he nodded carefully, Doran's father continued.



        "Well that's good then.  Because when you get to Hell, let your
master know that my daughter is a woman, not cargo, and that her father
doesn't take kindly to anyone treating her wrong."  Asher's knife went
in and up, severing the sailor's throat and spinal cord in one quick,
angry thrust.  The man made not a sound as he died, and Asher grabbed
hold of his collar to let him drop gently to the deck, replacing his
bloody blade in its sheath before returning to work.



        He moved on towards the cargo hold, confident now that the way
was clear.  The cabin boy, if Asher was any judge, would be spending as
much time in the gardrobe as he could to avoid going back to work, and
one drunkard in the hold wouldn't be any problem at all.



        Asher walked down the gangway, his night vision picking out few
details in the darkened hold.  In front of him was a doorway, behind a
shadowed area that he left alone for the moment.  Doran would be ahead,
he judged, behind a door that could be locked to keep womanless sailors
at bay.



        He moved forward, seeing more detail as he went along.  To his
surprise, he saw that the door ahead was partway open, though the
interior of the room itself was not yet visible.  Pausing for a moment,
he listened, trying to hear any sound of drunken breathing or of a
young, scared girl.



        He was disturbed to hear nothing from the room.  Not one bloody
sound.  Dammit, he should be able to hear something.



        "Doran," he called out softly.  "Doran, it's Papa.  I'm here."
Nothing still.  With his heart begining to pound, he pushed the door
open and was greeting with an empty room.



        No, not quite empty.  In the center, surrounded by two dark
circles, were two sets of open manacles bolted to the deck.  At the edge
of the circles themselves was a pile of... something... 



        Asher rushed over to the circle's edge and kneeled down, his
hand running through the pile of fine ash that lay on the floor.  He
picked out a tiny bit of melted metal, about the size of a small
stilleto.



        Doran's birthday present, he thought distantly.  He was overcome
by a queer floating sensation, as his mind went over what must have
happened.



        She woke up here, and waited for us to come rescue her.  But we
never came, so she pulled out the only tool she had left and freed
herself.  She crossed the circle, maybe thinking that it was there just
to hide her from Taman, and she... and she...



        A cry of pure, animalistic rage tore out of Asher's chest,
echoing through the hold.  He slammed his fists down on the hard wooden
deck, bang, bang, bang, heedless of the metal he still held in his hand,
cutting into his palm and drawing forth a ribbon of blood.



	Too late, too late, too late.  



        Wasn't fast enough, wasn't good enough.  Why didn't she wait?
Could've gotten Taman to free her, could've saved her, too late.
Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy??!!



        He collapsed to the deck, sobs of agony near choking him as he
rested his head on the cool wooden deck.



        Going to kill Audric.  Rip his lungs out, rip his heart out.
Show 'em both to him before he dies.



        He pushed himself up from where he lay, a dagger appearing in
his hand as he stalked out of the room.



        Kill that bastard Hugo first though.  Kill him, kill Tom, kill
that sneaking, lying cabin-boy as well!



        Near blind and deaf from his rage, Asher almost didn't hear the
muffled cry that came from the shadowed corner of the gangway.  He
stopped short, one foot already on the ladder to head back up.



        "Who's there?" he called.  The only reply was a strangled
mrrmph! from the corner.  Asher let go of the ladder and headed towards
the source of the noise, determined to quiet it before continuing with
his grim task.



        What he found was a near naked boy, stripped to his shorts,
hog-tied and gagged, his eyes wide with terror.  There was a pile of
clothing lying next to him, and Asher picked it up to find he was
holding Doran's dress in his hands.



        The killing rage within him was suddenly replaced by a vast
puzzlement.  What was Doran's dress doing here if the rest of her
remains were in the hold?  And what the devil happened to this boy?



        The puzzlement was replaced by... No, don't call it hope, yet.
Don't call it that, because if it was false he thought he might
die....or at least someone would.



        Asher yanked the gag out of the boy's mouth, pulling him up into
a sitting position.  The boy coughed and spat, then looked up at his
possible benefactor with fear.  The old thief could hardly blame him,
considering his wild performance a few moments ago.



	"Who did this to you, boy?" Asher whispered.



        "The... the girl..." the cabin boy stuttered.  "She hit me!" he
cried out with sudden indignace.



        "I'll do a lot worse than that to you if I think you're lying,
boy," Asher replied, his knife flashing in the boy's face.  "Describe
her."



        "I... I... I don't know!  It was dark!"  The boy swallowed, as
Asher began to flip the knife to and from either hand.  "She had...
hair... blond or white, I can't remember!  And blue eyes!  And she
looked so nice, but she hit me and stole my clothes!"



        "Stole your clothes, eh?"  Asher put his knife away, to the
boy's obvious relief.



        I thought his voice had changed.  One cabin boy went down... and
another went up!  But why the gardrobe?! 



        Asher suddenly leaped up, and stuffed the gag back in the boy's
mouth.



        "Don't go anywhere," he instructed, waggling a finger at the
boy.  Somehow he managed to suppress the manic laughter that was
threatening to boil out from him.  He had to check though.  Had to make
sure.



        He clambered up the gangway and out of the hold, rushing towards
the gradrobes at the stern of the ship.  First he rushed to the
starboard one, opening only to find nothing out of the ordinary.  Then
he checked the port gardrobe, and found a rope hanging from the sitting
board, leading down into the dark waters below.



        "Oh, Doran.  You are such a clever lass!" he whispered fiercely.
Somehow he made back down into the hold, out of sight and hearing of the
other ships, before collapsing to the deck again, this time overcome by
a roar of laughter.



        Some papa I am, he thought drunkenly.  Here I thought to rush in
and rescue my darling daughter, and she goes off and rescues herself!
His laughter finally tapered off, and he stood up, swaying from relief.
Doran was probably halfway across the harbor by now.  He had no worries
about her drowning.  There were no large predators in New Aveon's
harbor, and she knew how to swim, or float if she got tired.



        Which left him, sitting here on a ship full of corpses, one pile
of ash he assumed was the late sailor Tom, and a fifteen year-old cabin
boy who likely thought he was trapped with a lunatic.



        He yanked the gag out of the boy's mouth.  Leaning over him, he
tried to mute his grin into something a bit more reassuring.



	"What's yer name, boy?" Asher asked.



	"Jon... Jonathan Harper..." the boy managed to get out.



        "Well Jonathan Harper, I wouldn't feel to bad about being
snookered by a girl.  There are men in New Aveon who'd pay a dear amount
of marks for the privilidge of being knocked out and tied up by my
daughter," Asher said conversationally.  His knife flashed again,
forcing a flinch out of Jon, until the boy felt his bonds suddenly part,
freeing his arms and legs.



        "You... your daughter, Sir?" Jon asked, rubbing his wrists and
gritting his teeth as sensation suddenly came back.



        "Aye.  The name's Abelard Blackthorne, but my friends call me
Asher."



	"Friend, Sir?"



	Asher grin widened a little.



        "Aye.  Friend.  Thanks to you kindly volunteering to get knocked
silly, you helped my daughter escape from this hole.  For that, I can't
thank you enough, Jon."  He extended his hand to the boy, and helped him
get up on his feet.



        "It was nothing, really, Sir... Asher," Jon said, still a bit
bewildered.



        "Nonetheless, in all seriousness, I do owe you something," Asher
told him gravely.  "Now then, what do you want?"



	"My life, Sir."



        Asher waved his hand dismissively.  "That's already done, else
we wouldn't be having this conversation.  Think big, Jon Harper.  What
do you want, more than anything else in the world?  Gold?  Jewels?  Land
to call your own?"



        Jon swallowed and bit his lip.   "I want... I want off this
ship," he said with sudden vehemence.  "I want to serve a real captain,
who'll let me prove himself, not make me rot for a over a year scrubbing
the decks, cleaning the swill, and nothing else, except beat me
senseless if I dare stick my neck up!"



        "Ah, you want a fair chance then," Asher corrected.  "That's the
rarest thing of all.  But, it is possible to find, if you know where to
look."   He clapped Jon on the back.  "Tell you what.  When we back to
land, I'll write you up a letter of reccomendation for you.  You take it
to Captain Roberts, aboard the Revenge.  He'll push you to your limits,
but he'll also give you your fair reward when you're done."



        Asher clambered up the ladder once again, this time followed by
Jon.  The boy was silent, still trying to digest his sudden good
fortune.  That was just as well to Asher, who was attempting to figure
how to get back to land with a boy in tow who may or may not be able to
swim.



        Like you wouldn't have had the same problem if you'd rescued
Doran.  Especially considering you wouldn't have known if she was
concious or not, he chided himself.   You're getting old, Asher.  Time
was you wouldn't have missed a problem that big when you planned
something.  'course, time was you wouldn't likely have thought up much
of a plan to start with either.



        He turned his head, suddenly distracted from his thoughts by the
sounds of oars in the water.  Someone was approaching the ship in a
small rowboat, grunting in effort at every pull of the oars.  Asher
squinted, and then smiled when he saw who it was.



        "Jon, my boy.  Would you care to have another favor owed to
you?"



	"Not particularly," Jon answered.



        Asher chuckled.  "Fine then.  Just give me a small gift.  What's
the password and countersign to get aboard this boat?"



        "Wyvern and dragon," Jon answered.  He looked a bit more
confident, evidently having decided to burn his bridges once Asher had
given him the chance.



        "Good, lad.  Wait a few moments then, and I'll have a set of
clothes to put on your back.  Wouldn't want you coming back to shore
wearing a dress, now would we?" 






        Hugo cursed under his breath, wondering why he hadn't taken the
opportunity and fled the city when he had the chance, instead of wasting
his time and coin in that tavern.  Far better to be blistering his feet
on the road than blistering his hands on a boat in the middle of the
bloody harbor in the middle of the bloody night.  Especially with the
news he was carrying.



        One of Audric's bravos had hunted him down, just as the watery
wine was finally starting to bring him to something close to relaxed.
He had been dragged to Audric's headquarters, a place that tended to
change location at random moments at this stage of his game.  There,
Hugo had his head uncermoniously dunked in a bucket of cold water to
wake him up, before recieving his new orders.



        "Asher and Taman are halfway to Roseford by now," Audric had
told him, after making sure he was sober.  "In two days I will have
control of this city's heart.  In a week my position will be completely
secure, while Asher and his drow familiar sit and wait for his
daughter's return."



        "I see," Hugo replied.  "So you want me to make preparations to
return to her to her father?"



	"No.  I want you to kill her."



        Hugo's eyes became fixed and glassy.  He swallowed once, then
found his voice.



        "Ah.  Not that I'm questioning your wisdom on this matter or
anything, Master Audric, but won't that make Asher just a bit upset?"



        "It will make him blind, blind with fury," Audric answered with
an unpleasant laugh.  "Better still, he will help us destroy
Stickyfoot's guild in the process."



        "I don't understand, Master," Hugo said.  "Asher knows that you
are the one who kidnapped his daughter.  How will killing her blind
him?"



        "Simplicity, fool.  You will take Doran off the Storm Crow,
where she is being held, and bring her to one of the locations where my
headquarters has been.  Also there will be several members of
Stickyfoot's guild that we've managed to capture.  When they are all
there, you will kill every single one of them, along with one or two
lower-ranked members of our guild."



        "Immediately afterward, I will begin to spread the word out onto
the street that Stickyfoot attempted to mount a rescue attempt in order
to make sure that Asher's Ebon School would support him in his bid to
stay in power.  Alas, it failed badly, and Asher's dear little Doran was
unfortunately killed in the confusion."



        "Asher will likely be so enraged, he'll divide his forces
between attacking Stickyfoot, and attempting to attack me.  In the
process, he accomplishes two goals for me; eliminating himself as a
threat, and forcing Stickyfoot to fight a two front war."



        "Brillant, Master," Hugo said, adding a subservient bow just for
good measure.  Inside, he was screaming to get the hell out of this room
and back to the tavern, for he felt an overwhelming need to get drunk.



        "I thought so," Audric agreed.  "Oh, and when you kill Doran,
make sure it looks messy.  We wouldn't want Asher to have the pleasure
of thinking she died quietly."



	"Of course, Master," Hugo agreed.



        So now he found himself in a rowboat, on a dark and moonless
night, wishing he were anywhere else, except maybe back in Audric's
office.



         Why did I get picked for this anyway? he groused.  I don't do
murder.  A little con artistry, a little extortion, maybe the occasional
kidnapping, that's all.  Murder isn't my style.



        Well, at least he could order somebody else to actually do the
deed.  Bad enough he'd have to escort the girl to it.



        The Storm Crow was just ahead, barely ten yards away.  Stowing
the oars and cupping his hands to his lips, Hugo called out, "Ahoy the
vessel!"



        "Ahoy yerself, Shorty.  What's the password?" came the reply
from a formless shape by the railing.  Hugo didn't recognise the  voice,
but that didn't mean anything,  More than likely it was one of the
sailors that had returned from leave.



        "Wyvern!  What's the counter-pass?"   Shorty indeed, you
scurvy-ridden fish.



        "Dragon!  You're free to come aboard."  The shape dissapeared
for a moment, then threw a rope ladder down the side.  Hugo rowed up to
it, tying off his mooring line to the ladder.  Then he climbed slowly up
the ladder, wishing for a moment that he was a drow, so he could just
float up the damned thing.



        Hugo was just a handspan away from grabbing the railing and
pulling himself aboard, when he felt his foot slip away from the rope
rung and he began to fall.  The sailor was quick though, and managed to
grab hold of his arm and haul him bodily onto the deck.



        "Thanks," Hugo said, looking up and seeing the sailor's face.
"I owe you... urp..."



        Instead of a sailor, there was Asher standing before him,
wearing a black silk bodysuit that had an unreasonable number of knives
strapped to it.



        "No trouble," Asher said with a wicked grin.  "I'm happy to have
you aboard."



	Then he punched Hugo's lights out.







        There once was a fish named Freddy, Whose tail was ever ready.
He swam so fast, He outran the bass, And the fishermen cursed him
deadly.



        Doran laughed quietly, and continued swinging her arms, one over
the other, in slow strokes as she lay on her back and stared up at the
stars.  Odd to think that scarcely an hour ago she was worried about
losing her virginity to a drunken sailor.  Now she was doing the
backstroke across the harbor, and her greatest worry was trying to
finish the rhyme to a quick limerick.



        I wonder where Papa and Taman are? she wondered.  Fighting that
beast Audric?  Looking for her?  Or worse still, running for their
lives?



        The thought sobered her up quickly, dispelling the smile the
limerick had brought.  She really had no idea what the situation would
be when she reached the end of her swim.  Her plans had not extended
beyond swimming for shore and making a run for the Rose and Pearls.  But
that might not be possible if there was no longer a Rose and Pearls to
run to.



        They may very well be dead.  She shuddered, the water suddenly
cold.  No, don't think that.  She had lost her family once, whoever they
were.  To lose them again didn't bear thinking about.



        Scratch that.  Assume they are alive.  Audric is a thief who
wants this city.  All I ever was to him was a pawn to persuade Papa to
bend to his will.  And would Papa bend?  For her, definitely, if he
thought there was no other way.  She had no doubts at all about that.
Which meant he was standing idily at the inn, no doubt with a
smouldering temper, or he was on the road to Roseford to await her
return.



        No, that was wrong.  She couldn't imagine him sitting or running
away while she was in danger.  Which meant he was either trying to
rescue her, or was dead.  There were no other possibilities.



	"Papa, where are you?" she asked quietly to the night.



        "Enjoying himself thoroughly at the moment, I believe," a voice
in the air said.



        Doran stopped in mid stroke, and twisted wildly to find the
voice, nearly swallowing a lungful of harbor water in the process.  A
pair of ebony hands reached down to grab hold of her shoulders and
steady her, and she looked up to meet Taman's warm red eyes.



        "Uncle Taman!" she cried out happily.  He was alive, and Papa as
well from his words!



        "Correct," Taman answered, his cool tone offset by his smile.
"Doran, you cannot know how overjoyed I am to find you alive."  He
pulled gently on her shoulders, and she rose out of the water to float
beside him in the air, bouyed up by his magicks.



        "Oh, as am I, Uncle Taman.  As am I," she said.  Reaching across
the space between them, she pulled the drow mage into a tight hug.
Taman allowed this affront to his dignity, hugging her back and not
commenting on the now damp state of his robes.



        "Where's Papa?  What's happening?  Is everyone else all right?"
Doran demanded upon releasing him.



        "Everyone is safe that needs to be safe, now that I've found
you," Taman answered patiently.  "The people who kidnapped you will be
taken care of shortly, and your father is currently working off his
accumulated tension from the past two days.  I expect he will return to
the Rose and Pearls within the hour.  In the meantime, may I offer you
transport back to the inn, myself?  I believe you could use a thorough
bath.  I don't care to think what sort of infections you are courting
after swimming in the this dreadful harbor water."



        "I accept your offer gladly, Uncle.  My papa did not raise a
fool," Doran said with a smile, her eyes twinkling.



        "No, he raised a very resourceful young woman," Taman said.
With that, he took hold of Doran's hand and together they dissapeared
into the night.






	Thump, thump, thump...



        "All right," Hugo muttered woozily.  "I've got your bloody rent
money.  Just quit banging on the door."  No, that wasn't right.  The
thumping sound was coming from somewhere below him, and besides, he had
paid his rent just the week before.



        God, his jaw hurt though.  He wondered if he had gotten so drunk
that he'd gotten into a fight.  Probably not, since his head didn't hurt
at all.  Maybe he had just pissed someone off...



        Hugo opened up his eyes, and saw Asher sitting crosslegged about
two yards away, watching him with that same idiot smirk on his face.
The little guildman let out a quiet groan.



	Yes, he had pissed someone off...



	He got up.



        No, make that tried to get up.  Hugo was stopped short as he
felt steel tug at his ankles and wrists.  Looking down, he saw that he
was wearing the same shackles Asher's daughter had sported just two days
before.  In addition, he had been stripped of his clothes, leaving just
his undershorts to protect his dignity.



        "Good evening," Asher greeted him cheerfully.  "Or morning, I
should think by now.  At any rate, I hope you're comfortable."



        Okay, he was in chains, he was almost naked, but he wasn't dead.
Therefore, there was room for negotiation.  He hoped.



        "Look," Hugo began in his most placating tone.  "I can tell that
you are a bit upset.  I would be too, if our positions were reversed.
However, I do hope you understand that I was simply doing what my
guildmaster willed."



        "Just following orders, eh?" Asher said, his grin widening a
bit.  From below, the thumping noise finally stopped.



        "Exact... well, not exactly like that," Hugo backtracked.  "I
mean, it wasn't as if your daughter was injured in any way."



        "Oh, no," Asher agreed, his tone sharpening.  "You just
kidnapped her, bound her in chains, and threatened her life.
Perfectably understandable."



        "Ah... well, when you put it like that..."  It didn't appear
that negotiation was going to be an option.



        What is dignity, except something to be lost? Hugo thought
philosophically.  Dropping any pretense of being in control of the
situation, he kneeled down even further than he already was, his
forehead banging against the deck.



        "Please, Sir!  I beg of you," Hugo began to plead.  "There is no
answer to my grave crimes, but I beg of you in the name of the AllFather
to spare me!  My life is worthless before you, but yet I ask for your
worthy kindness!  To murder a poor wretch such as myself would be
nothing more than like the killing of a mouse, and yet, does not a mouse
have a place before the Father of All in his grand scheme?"



        He fell silent, his head still resting against the deck, as he
heard Asher begin to clap his hands slowly.



        "Very good," the thief noted, ceasing his applause.  "That was
Locutio's final speech from Emperor Justinian, Part One, wasn't it?"



	"Oh," Hugo said, raising his head up, "You've seen it?"



        "Doran insisted on dragging me to it when it premiered last
year.  Didn't think I'd like it, I prefer comedies over history plays,
but the Duke's Company did a pretty good job."



        The guildman let out pained sigh.  "All right, I give up.  Would
you at least do me one favor then?  Just kill me quickly.  I'm just a
flunky.  It should be Master Audric who gets the pleasure of dying
slowly over a three day period, not me."



        There was a knock at the door.  A young boy stuck his head in.
He was wearing Hugo's clothes, which fitted him like an ill-tailored
scarecrow.  Hugo felt annoyed, the most emotion he could manage over the
insult.  Didn't the boy have any clothes to call his own?



        "All done, Asher," the boy announced cheerfully.  "Figure we've
got a half-hour before she starts to roll over."



        "Thank you, Jon," Asher said politely.  "My business will be
done before then.  You'd best look about and see what coin you can
gather before we cast off."



	"Aye, Skipper," Jon answered with a grin, then dissapeared.



        "As for you," Asher said, turning back to Hugo.  "You needn't
worry.  I'm not going to kill you.  Or maim you, or geld you, or
whatever your worst nightmare is."



        "Oh, you're just going to leave me for the crew to find when
they come back aboard then?" Hugo asked, suddenly hopeful.  That might
not be so bad.  If he was lucky, he might be able to talk them into
letting him go before Audric got to him, assuming Audric was still
alive.



        "Oh, they won't be able to find a damned thing," Asher said
cheerfully.  He reached into a black pouch on his belt and drew out a
half-melted bit of metal.  He tossed it to Hugo, who caught it and
looked at it curiously.



	"What's this for?" he asked.



        "To pick your shackles with," Asher replied.  "It worked well
enough for Doran, though she didn't have the time constraint you do.
Remember, you only have a half-hour, more or less."  He stood up, and
headed towards the door.



        "Before what?" Hugo demanded.  Asher paused, and looked back at
him.  Though he was grinning again, it was grin that was utterly cold
and without compassion.



        "Before this boat sinks from the holes Jon just chopped through
the hull," the old thief answered.  He went through the door and closed
it.  It shut with a loud thump, and Hugo heard the sound of a bolt
slamming home and locking.



        Hugo looked at the twisted bit of metal, then at the lock of his
shackle.  He swallowed.  It was so damned dark in the hold, he wasn't
sure he even be able to see what he was doing.



        Then he heard the sound of gurgling water and got immediately to
work...






        Asher got back to the Rose and Pearls a little before three
o'clock in the morning.  He was feeling divided, part of him weary from
his exertions this evening (he was no longer a man of twenty, he was
forced to admit), and part of him nervous.  Inside the safe haven of the
inn was Doran, of that he was certain, but her condition, both mental
and physical, were unknown to him.



        Did Audric hurt you, beloved?  If he did, in even the smallest
way, I will make him pay dearly for his crimes.  There will be no
punishment too severe, no mercy worth my effort.



        He walked around to the servants' entrance, his hands
automatically picking the door lock rather than slow down to hunt up his
key.  Slipping into the narrow hallway, he could hear the muffled
clatter of the kitchen, and the occasional burst of noise from the
common room.  



        At one end of the hall, standing outside Asher's office like a
guardian statue was Brigit.  Her arms were folded in front of her, and
she held a smile of fierce satisfaction on her face.  She turned when
she spotted Asher out of the corner of her eye, and she jerked her head
towards his office door.



        Asher nodded his thanks, and opened the door silently on its
well oiled hinges.  Stepping softly inside, he found the object of his
search waiting for him.



        Doran sat in his padded chair, her head cradled in her folded
arms, both resting on his desk's top.  She wore a nightgown under a
thick woolen sleeping robe, and her feet were warmed by sheepskin
slippers.  Her white-blond hair was wet from a recent washing, and
someone, most likely Brigit, had braided it into a thick coil that fell
down her back.  As Asher watched silently, her shoulders rose and fell
in the rythyms of a deep and well-deserved sleep.



        A movement in the shadows caught Asher's eye, and he saw Taman
silently move towards him.  He had been floating in the shadows of the
room, taking station just behind and to the left of Doran to guard her
sleep.



        "When I found her, she was swimming across the harbor," Taman
said softly and without preamble.  "I teleported her home, and she
insisted on waiting for you after she had bathed, rather than sleep in
her room.  I believe she intended to stay awake until your return, but I
fear her body betrayed her."



        "It did not betray, it merely was watching out for her best
interests.  She has no shortage of guardians."  Asher replied, his eyes
not leaving Doran.  He turned away reluctantly to look at Taman.
"Thank you, old friend."



        "Thanks are hardly nessasary," the drow replied.  "She escaped
on her own.  I merely speeded her journey."



        Asher nodded absently, then stepped around Taman to stand before
his daughter.  Brushing away a lock of her hair, he kneeled down and
gently kissed Doran on her cheek.  She stirred, blinking back sleep.



	"Papa...?" she murmured, still mostly asleep.



        "Papa's here," he said softly.  "Papa will always be here for
you."






        Where did it go wrong?  Where did it all go wrong? Audric
thought wildly.  He spurred his horse forward, in the faint hope of
reaching the docks ahead of his pursuers.  In reply, the animal, already
twitchy from the pressing crowds of New Aveon's streets, whinnied
nervously as it sensed its rider's frightened agitation.  Both felt very
much like bolting headlong through the milling crowd and putting many
miles between themselves and city.  Yet, the chance of it ending well
was the same as the Navarre Guild's possibility of controlling New
Aveon.  Not bloody likely.



        In two days, six months of preparation had fallen apart.  The
sinking of the Storm Crow, taking Asher's worthless daughter with it,
seemed to be the signal for a reversal of Audric's fortune.
Stickyfoot's guild suddenly acquired omnipotence, as they struck at
nearly every hideaway his own guild members had created in the past
week.  Like rat's nests, they'd been rooted out and put to the torch,
leaving nothing but smoking ruins and mute bones.  Businesses already
under guild protection either dropped their affiliation or suffered
likewise.  Hired freelance muscle and loyal guildsmen had been assaulted
and killed with alarming frequency and impunity.  Even Audric's secret
contacts in the city were not escaping.  Two had been found on public
display in the Great Square, flayed and cut open like butchered hogs.
The rest had taken the warning to heart and fled the city.  Even the
thrice damned, sniveling moneygrubber Hugo had disappeared without the
last payment on his contract, t telling fact spoke volumes to Audric.



        Coming near the ocean side of the quarter, the crowd thinned as
few other than the locals could stand the ever-present decaying fishy
odor of the place.   The open streets seemed like the gates of paradise
to Audric and without a thought he drove his heels into the flanks of
his horse for more speed.  With a resounding clatter of hooves on the
cobblestones, the animal launched itself into a hurtling gallop that
rapidly began to eat at the distance to the Raven's Wing.  At a
breakneck pace, they broke from the decrepited buildings of Portside
into the wide area before the bridge that crossed the inner harbor to
the city's port.  Scanning the nearby building tops, Audric crouched low
on the animal's neck as it thundered up to high center of the span.  I
would not put it past that damn halfling to have some bowmen waiting for
me to pass here.   He's certainly known everything else of late....
Whipping the animal on to even greater speed, he hurtled over the
bridge's crest and dow ther side to the gates of New Aveon's
fotress-like port.  Surprised to have reached the far side untouched,
Audric reigned his charging horse back with a brutal tug and wheeled
about to look back across the water.  The decaying buildings of the
waterfront showed no hint of danger, only the sagging rot brought on by
the sea air.



        Relieved to see no signs of pursuit, he nudged the horse into a
canter and rode into the porticullis-toothed maw of  the massive
structure.  Coming through the gate tunnel, Audric could feel the
unconcious tension seep from his shoulders.  Inside the heavy stone
walls of  the Port Keep, the only concern was the betterment of the
ciy's trade and anything that could affect that trade was dealt with
harshly.   The burly guildmaster could not repress a gloating grin.
Stickyfoot, you can't touch me now....   With a cocksure flourish, he
waved at all that crossed his path as he rode to the Raven's Wing 's
slip.  The bored guardsmen, furloughed sailors and laboring dock workers
only stared at him uncomprehending, not aware of the victory that he had
won.  Their shrugs of indifference and vaccuous looks of confusion only
added to his amusement and Audric couldn't help but ponder his escape.
Sometimes the sweetest victory is simply surviving one's own mistakes.



        The Raven's Wing's pier was mostly bare.   With the majority of
the cargo and passengers loaded, the greater part of the pre-launch
activity had moved to the ship's deck and rigging.  Nearly a score of
sailors scurried about the ship setting things right while their
officers bellowed orders and checked their progress.  Only a half-dozen
seadogs labored on the pier, loading the last bit of supplies into cargo
nets to be hauled up on deck.  Seeing Audic ride up, two burly crewmen
set aside their bundles and moved to help the guildmaster with his
horse.  The first took the animal's reigns while the second retrieved
the animal's saddlebags.   With nary a word of thanks, Audric slid from
the saddle and began to move towards the gangplank as his mount was led
away.       


        Before he could place a foot on the boarding ramp,  the second
sailor cleared his throat and intoned measuredly, "Master Audric.."



        With mild irritation at the delay, the one-eyed man turned his
good eye back to the waiting sailor and received a rude surprise.
"What do you ....in the nine hells!"  The image of the coarse looking
sailor was wavering, quickly changing, shrinking in size, darkening in
color, and altering in dress.   He was becoming  a tall, sharp featured
drow dressed in a dazzingly white doublet, marked with shadowed moon of
Asher's Ebon School.



        As Audric choaked out the last of his words and he finished his
change, Peregine gave the human a pleasantly vicious smirk.  "...I have
a letter for you."   Reaching into his doublet, he pulled forth the
sealed parchment and handed it along with the guildmaster's saddlebags
to the gap mouthed Audric.  His task completed, he bowed mockingly and
strolled off, slowly fading from view with each step until he
disappeared. 



        Audric broke out in a cold sweat and his eyes took on distant
glaze.   He would have remained frozen where he stood, lost in shock,
except for the ringing of the last boarding call.  The few sailors
remaining on the pier  forced the big man up the gangplank in their
hurry to get aboard.  Spun about and disoriented, Audric stumbled over
to the far railing, trying to get out of way of the crew as the Raven's
Wing set sail.  He stood there transfixed by distant horizon until the
ship rounded the breakers and made for the open sea .  Choking down
several gulps of the salt air, Audric regained his senses and instantly
was faced with a confusing enigma.   Why by the Nine am I still
alive?....that drow was one of Asher's and he could have just as easiliy
put a knife between my ribs and Asher certainly has reason for it.  He
again became aware of the creased parchement in his hand and callously
broke open the seal.  His eyes hardened with anger as he quickly read
the letter.  With a be roar, he crumpled the vellum into a ball and cast
it into the sea.  Yet even as the waves leached away the ink, the
guildmaster could still hear its words.



Audric, Three times you have struck at me through those I hold dear and
three times I have had my revenge.   If there is a fourth, I will not
allow the possibility of a fifth.  I let you go this time but do not
cross paths with me or mine again.

							Asher