"Thank you, Master. Ah… Shadowspawn… I need all such advice you can give me."
"Here's another piece, then. Never call me that again."
"Yes sir."
Father Ils save us all, Chance thought, just before he fell asleep, for the ocean may go dry. Me, giving advice!
Two nights later three men in dark clothing stood in the dark area below the wall of the lordly keep of the master of Sanctuary. Two were clad all in black, the third only a shade less somberly. He alone wore headgear, a soft cap of dark gray. The oldest among them had relieved the youngest of his cloak and sword, in the interest of better mobility. With Lone ready to set off on the mission that neither of them considered the least bit dishonest, the trio watched the arrow go up, and up, and a grin of pride rearranged the beard of the ragtag former soldier Chance had recruited. He had proved his mettle. It was a perfect shot or appeared to be: the shaft caught, and here dangled the rope for Lone's use.
And no matter what plans the ocean might or might not have to go dry, Chance proved to have more advice to impart to his newfound apprentice. "If it's possible without overmuch danger," he counseled, "bring out the rope with you. Absolutely bring out the arrow, no matter what. And… Lone."
The younger man was gazing up at the wall, and the place where arrow and rope had disappeared. "Aye."
"Look at me."
Instantly, Lone did.
With the portentousness of master to assistant, Chance said, "You are going to be very proud, and you will want to leave some sign that you have been there. Do not."
Lone nodded. "Aye. May… may I ask why… Master?"
"Once in my weening pride I left proof to the man who then ruled this poor foreigners-saddled city, and after I was out it occurred to me that it was a bad idea to let him know how easily I could break into his palace, and out." "Ah." Lone's dark, dark head was bobbing. "And did ill come of that?" "No, except extra time and labor for me, for I felt obliged to steal back into the palace and remove the
signal I had left of my presence… and then I had to get myself back out again."
Lone smiled, and then chuckled, and apologized for laughing. Then he noted that his mentor was also chuckling… As the young man began to make his way sinuously up the rope, the watching Chance felt a touch at his
sleeve. He turned to face his archer. "The rope's in place and there he goes, yer lordship," the bearded man said. "About my payment?" Chance pressed three coins into the waiting, grime-etched hand. The old soldier raised it to examine the
contents of his palm, then gave his temporary employer a look.
"That is half," Chance told him. "So far the rope has not worked loose or broken. When he tops the wall and we know the rope has held, you will have earned the full amount we agreed on." The archer looked crestfallen. "Aw…" "If you don't think you can trust me, come with me to a place called The Bottomless Well." Acorn-colored eyes shone in the darkness. "Are you buyin', yer lordship?" "We will see," Chance said. "And stop calling me that." He and the fellow, whose name he had given as Kantos, were on their second cup when through the
doorway came a smug-faced young man all in black, in quest of his cloak and sword. Reaching the table, he produced Kantos's arrow and, with a flourish, handed it to him. Lone was reaching into his tunic as he removed his sword and cloak from a third chair and seated his smiling self with his mentor and the hired help.
"Done," he announced. Chance shoved his mug over in front of his apprentice, who bobbed his head in gratitude. "Well done!" Chance said, and immediately diverted his attention from the pridesome youth. "Kantos, the
other half of your payment for a job well done," he said, and pressed the coppers into Kantos's ready
hand. "As a bonus, I am paying for your beer. Do have a good night." Kantos was smart enough to recognize dismissal. "Thankin' ye both," he smiled, touching his forelock as he rose, and he all but louted out.
When he was gone Lone withdrew from within his tunic a soft cloth sack that he had partially burdened with earth before he went up the wall. The purpose of that strangeness was to absorb the sound of clinking coins while he took his leave. With great pride and smugness he set it on the table before Chance. They both heard a muted clink.
Chance directed his dark gaze into the dark eyes across the table from him. "The exact amount?" Lone nodded. "The exact amount."
"Strick is going to crow! And what did you take for yourself, Catwalker?"
"Well done. Did you have any trouble?"
Lone compressed his lips and flared his nostrils with a sigh. "I did. I was on my way out when a servant appeared out of nowhere. Nothing I did had attracted him. He just happened along and there was nothing I could do about it. He saw me, but I had the scarf across my face. His mouth went wider'n his eyes, and I hit him, hard. He fell down and just stayed there. On his back with his eyes closed. I got out of there as fast as I could. He could never recognize me."
Chance sighed and looked unhappy. It was the way of masters.
Part of the problem had nothing to do with the fact that Lord A. now knew that someone had breached his keep. As disturbing to the man who so despised sorcery was the fact that this afternoon an unduly nervous Linnana had told him that she'd had an unfamiliar experience: for the first time in her life, she had Seen, in the way of the S'danzo. What she Saw had to do with Lone's entry into Arizak's keep: a man lying on the floor on his back, with his eyes closed.
The successful apprentice thief sat erect in his new less-than-finery, so filled with pride that he had been complimented—but not much!—by his idol. He had rejected Strick's insistence that he accept the coins he had liberated, until he caught the sharp look directed at him by his chosen mentor and master. He accepted the spell-master's "too kind" offer as he said, head bowed, with great gratitude… that Chance later told him was overdone.
Lone had also agreed and acceded to Chance's wise suggestion that during his "off-duty hours," he wear much less somber clothing and perhaps even fewer weapons. Lone had even been gracious enough in accepting Linnana's offer to help him find a more colorful tunic and leggings. Now he sat comfortably in a medium-blue tunic over dark yellow or "old gold" leggings and soft tan boots with heels. The four of them once again sat together, at Strick's. This time they were out back, in a yard full of flowers and ornamental shrubs that the Spellmaster had caused to be surrounded by a strange fence made of vertical slats with spaces between.
Strick had told them of his contacting the ancient mage whose apprentice he had determined was responsible for the many mis-sent spells in Sanctuary of late, and they had met. At first Strick's only report was a terse, "He and I are not going to be friends."
Chance and Linnana prevailed upon him to tell the story of their meeting, however brief. The Spellmaster's reaction to the reaction of Kusharlonikas to the news, and his attitude, was, all but grinding his teeth, to call himself "appalled." The sorcerer not only refused all responsibility for both his spells and those of his less-than-competent apprentice, but was positively obscene in his dismissal of the woman who had lost her sole companion—the cat—and the couple who had been forced to the expense of replacing their tent.
Chance did have to like Strick's characterization of Kusharlonikas as "that pompously overblown droplet of ant excrement!"
Now he who had been Shadowspawn had told the blue-tunicked youngster that he "seemed" ready for the real job; a deed of true importance. This news was more than welcome to Lone, who was immediately all attention.