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Art by the amazing @therosecleric on twitter!
They were all there when Thjazi Fang was killed. All but one.
Thjazi had sought them all out in the crowd: Kattigan first, alone in the wings, thinking he was hidden. Azune, of course, was no better than his damn executioner. Teor was leaning stiffly against a pillar at the back, their old mentor by his side. He knew well enough where Thimble was. The only founding member of the Torn Banner who was not present to watch his felling was Casimir. Absence was not unusual for him, especially since his change in alliances, but it still left a bitter taste in Thjazi’s mouth. Everything about the day did. His old friends had come to watch him die. His old enemies, too.
Hal was there as well, but Thjazi was doing everything in his power to not look at the terrified expression on his older brother’s face. Especially as one of his hands tried and failed to grasp onto the magical trinket in his cloak which Azune had reassured him was there.
In his life, Thjazi had seen many people fall, and many die. Every time, he wondered where they were headed after his blade left their limp bodies. He wondered what they felt in their last moments. But now, as the taut rope dug into his throat just enough to bruise, he felt almost weightless. Kat, Azune, Teor, Loza, and Hal blended into the other faces in the massive crowd. Thjazi was dizzy, the noose around his neck the only thing keeping him balanced.
Until he heard it. The falcon’s cry. In the centre of his city was a memorial to his people, to all of those who died in the rebellion he lit the spark of. He had never been able to visit it himself, but knew a family of their namesake birds had taken residence in the crook of the statue’s shoulder. His eyes focused as three brown shapes flew above their heads. His hand had still not found the rune. That was when Thjazi realised he was dead.
Time seemed to stretch out before he was able to meet Hal’s eyes once more.
“No, no.” He hadn’t at all registered what he had been saying to his brother before, but filled these words with all the intent he could muster. “You - Hal - you have to–”
Tell me what to do. Came the calm arcane words that curled around his ears as his head frantically whipped around.
“Murray. You got to help Murray. The Penteveral, you have to help her. There's paint waiting for you with Bolaire.” Forbidden words spit from Thjazi’s mouth. He couldn’t find the rune in his cloak, and he was telling Hal things he swore his brother would never know about. “I can't, you have to-”
He was interrupted. Fitting. The booming voice of Yanessa Halovar called out, “Have you any last words, Thjazi Fang?” She was supposed to be talking to him, but it was the crowd which had her attention. Thjazi’s heart thumped madly against his chest, but if these moments truly were to be his last, he refused to waste them. He’d practiced these words.
“The false authority that now condemns me to death will fall.” He called out himself, dragging his eyes from Hal’s face to Kattigan’s, then Teor’s, then Loza’s, then Azune’s. “I regret only that I will miss the glorious celebration when your calumny and destruction comes to an end.”
Looking back to Hal was all he could do for his brother at this point, and in the last moments of arcane connection between the two of them, he said steadily: “Tell Thimble not to be scared.”
Kattigan, Teor, Loza, Azune, Hal, Thimble, Aranessa, Casimir, and everyone in the crowd and beyond who had deigned to listen to his words for more than a few minutes. He hoped at least that they would remember him well.
“I can still hear the falcon’s cry.”
And he could.
“What you’re gonna have to accept, ‘Zune,” Kattigan slurred, large hand thumping against the wooden table. The other hand, which was loosely gripping a copper cup by its body rather than its stem, pointed a steady finger at the young boy. “Is that you're in with the thieves now. No going back.”
The boy, who was no more than fourteen years old, stared wide-eyed at him. Kattigan snorted a little under his breath as Azune’s back straightened in increments, and what was even funnier to him was how it didn’t even help with how small Azune looked in the chairs of their frequent haunt. An all-orc bard group from the Tanners were playing a godawful tune whilst also somehow blocking the bar. Kattigan was resisting the urge to go up to the frontman and tell them how he really felt about their singing, and Thjazi was distracted with staring daggers at the Lionfolk feller at the bar.
Kattigan didn’t blame him. On their last day in Dol Makjar, the tight-knit group of four had become three, and then five, in a matter of minutes. As Casimir had left them from Caravan Hill to get a headstart, an older orcish warrior, whose integrity Thjazi had insisted upon, introduced them to two new folk they would be travelling with: Teor Pridesire, an unfamiliar Nama, and Azune Nayar, who was quite literally a child.
He whistled under his breath, a sharp noise immediately recognisable to Thjazi as it hit his ears. Thjazi whipped his head around, removing himself from the back of his chair.
Kattigan kept his eyes on him as he continued. “Not that thievery is what we’re doing right now, though. Especially not when your general is asking. Isn’t that right, Thjazi?”
“Course. We’re going to escort a shipment, and that’s it.” Thjazi raised his own mug to his lips, tusks poking out over the bushy facial hair he had been sporting in recent weeks. “And you can trust us on that. Gods know we need the coin.”
“I have no reason to not trust you, Mister Fang.” Azune said, placing his hands on the sticky tavern tabletop. “Though, I don’t think General Zholl would believe anything I said either way.”
“Well isn’t that typical.” Kattigan let his eyes dance around once more. The lionfolk Nama had rested his forearms on the bartop and was seemingly muttering sweet nothings to the barman behind it. He only hoped Teor would be about himself enough to bring them back the next round of drinks. “Though, feel free to back out whenever. The trail isn’t friendly to young ones.”
Someone snorted. When Kattigan looked up, Thjazi had the smirk on his face that he donned when he was about to reveal something embarrassing. “Says the man who has only left Dol Makjar twice.” Kattigan only rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, where’s Thimble?” He said around a swig of dark brown liquor.
“Upstairs. She’s having a conversation with Ashborn.”
“Ahhh, starting early? We haven't even left the city yet, Ol’ Bugger.”
Thjazi grimaced into his tankard, lip curling. He took a slug of his ale before responding: “He has something I need.”
A faint thump came from the first floor, but thankfully most patrons of The Guard Tower at that time of night were too drunk to notice anything. Ashborn, Kattigan knew. The former Crow Keeper had sold them their fair share of tips through the years, and gear. Despite how well established the thieves’ guild was in the city, they played fast and loose with their money, and routinely lost track of who they had to pay. Thjazi never did, though. Thjazi remembered every coin which left his mitts. Kattigan finished the burning liquid in his cup and stood, leaving it on the sticky tabletop.
“Of course he does. Of course he does.” He said. “Well, while you do that, I'm going to go see what the hold up is with our next round.”
“Careful with him.”
“Always am.” He left his friend to handle a particularly befuddled looking fourteen year old.
Dodging the band wasn’t as difficult as he had originally thought it would be, though he was very nearly impaled with a particularly long flute end. He ducked underneath it, and slipped around a drunk young woman to reach Teor Pridesire. He seemed to have finished his conversation with the pretty barman and was tapping his claw against the wood. Cheeky bastard, getting game in one of the most notorious bars in Dol-Makjar. Kattigan sidled up to him.
“Did you at least get invited upstairs?” He asked, leaning heavily on the bar. Teor’s long furred face turned to face him with a wrinkle to his brow.
“Up– stairs?”
Kattigan raised a brow. He usually prided himself in being pretty damn good at reading people, but fuck it, he couldn’t read a single thing on Teor’s large face. Maybe the fur got in the way. “To sleep with the man. Don’t think I couldn’t see you working magic.” He drawled, sarcasm dripping from his lips.
Teor shifted in his chair, turning to face him properly. “We have only just met today. How can you claim to have knowledge of my arcane abilities?”
A moment passed. Kattigan had to give it to him, not many could stump him so thoroughly, and so quickly.
“Right.” He shot a glance down the bar. The pretty barman was kicking open a new keg of ale down the other end. “Did you at least get us the drinks? If not, I can tell you our order again. Its a long one, I know.”
“A measure of Yahrgraz, a brown whiskey, a glass of milk, and some sugar water for the little one.” Teor rattled off, unwavering. “I ordered an ale. The young man is working on it now.”
“And you weren’t flirting with him?”
“Did it look like I was?”
“It did a little bit, my lion friend, yes.” Kattigan clapped him on the shoulder, pushing himself off the bar. Chasing after Teor was proving much less interesting than he had hoped.
“I was just ordering, my human friend. Besides, I would have thought you would want me to keep the staff here from overhearing you planning out various crimes, no?”
That made Kattigan pause just as he was about to walk away. “Now, maybe you are more observant than I thought. But there’s no crimes scheduled for today.” The look Teor levelled on him was tired.
“Would you tell me how much of this escort mission is just a cover for your criminal acts?”
Kattigan thought for a moment, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I know you used to know Thjazi. I’m surprised at your surprise.”
“There is no surprise.” The Nama leaned back on the small stool he sat on. “At least not much. Loza Blade has told me of your… of Thjazi’s escapades since the war ended. But, the Thjazi I knew was noble. Full of spunk, and argumentative as hell, but noble. I wonder what you have done to him.”
“Me? I don’t see why you’re jumping to blamin’ anybody, Pridesire.” Kattigan crossed his arms over his too-tight, borrowed travelling shirt. “Thjazi might not be noble, but he's still the damn goodest person I know. Not his fault he has a knack for going behind the back of the law.”
Teor rolled his eyes, and it was almost a relief to see another emotion grace his stony face. “It is no wonder I was sent to babysit you all.”
A snort left Kattigan before he could stop it. “There will be some babysitting done on this trip, Lion, but it's not going to be for me, nor Thjazi.”
From where he was leaning against the bar, Kattigan was dragged forward by a fist in his shirt collar. He found himself face to face with Teor, who was frowning deeply. “I do not care what trouble you get me into Thief, but do not ruin the boy before he has the chance to grow.”
The pretty barman from before placed a wooden tray of drinks in between the two of them, and Teor released his shirt. Kattigan looked over the tankards at his new companion.
“Noted.”
Thjazi didn’t notice Thimble flying back downstairs until he felt the familiar footfall on his shoulder. Any conversation he’d tried to make with the kid had been fruitless, so he was thankful for the distraction.
“Got it, boss.” Came the twinkling voice in his ear. A curling grin came over his face.
Thank the Shapers. “Good job. Did you manage alright?”
“Did I ever. Do you know who you’re talking to?”
He grinned, eyes scanning the room. “Put it in my satchel quickly and tell Kat. I’ll meet you up there in ten.”
The weight of a palm sized object dropped into his leather satchel and Thjazi knew Thimble had already darted off through the maze of chair legs and feet to reach the others. In a large swig, Thjazi downed the last of his ale. A silver band on his fourth finger – the only item of real value on his person – tapped against the metal of the tankard.
“Where did she go?”
Unsurprisingly, the kid hadn’t even touched the pint of milk which Kattigan had shoved towards him. Milk alone was a terrible beverage, particularly around the city where the cows weren’t exactly plump. Azune was gripping the tankard tightly, a worried frown on his face.
“Went upstairs to sort out our sleeping arrangements is all. Nothing to worry about.” Thimble had been the most willing to bring Azune into their midst. Makes sense he would be the most comfortable around her.
“And the object she dropped into your pouch?”
Thjazi blinked. “Quick one, aren’t you?” Azune responded with a small nod, which made Thjazi sigh. He leaned forward, tilting his chin forward.
“Look. You’re just a kid, but I don’t believe in coddling. I don’t know what Loza has told you–”
“Everything.”
Thjazi raised a brow. “Everything, is that right?”
“She’s told me you are criminals. That you see yourselves as revolutionists. You, in particular.” There was something like disdain in Azune’s voice. Thjazi frowned.
“You have a problem with revolution, kid?”
The boy sniffled a little, pushing the milk away. “No. Loza thinks you’re going about it foolishly though.”
“Ahh, good old Loza. She’ll see.” Thjazi picked up Azune’s cup and downed the milk himself. It was bitter, predictably. “We’re not the most noble of types, our group. You heard what old Casimir said before he left us–” Some self-serving garbage about how he would be first to the spoils – “And so you must know we have other plans for this trip. But I can guarantee our cargo will reach its destination without issue. I need to be back within city walls in a month either way.”
“Loza also said you were a war hero. And that you could teach me much.”
Thjazi froze, turning to face the kid once more. “Don’t worry so much, Azune. This mission will be in and out. Nice and clean. We’ll get you back to the barracks before you can utter the word revolution.” He sighed, running a warm hand down his face. “I’ll teach you one thing, and its that war doesn’t put food on the table. Especially not after the war is done.”
With that, he rose from the table, and muttered to himself: “Especially when that war achieved fucking nothing.”
He moved through The Guard Tower with practiced ease. Not only had it been his stomping ground when he became a foot soldier at 16, but his group had been using the tavern for their own needs for a few years. So much crime had been facilitated in the second floor of the inn that the owner knew them all by name and face. Thankfully, a given title and a flash of coin is enough to quiet the noblest of men.
When he approached, Thimble was standing straight on Kat’s shoulder and they both seemed to be talking over drinks with Teor. Teor Pridesire. Thjazi shook off the scowl he knew adorned his face, and sidled up beside Kattigan, instinctively scanning the bar.
“Thjazi! We were just talking about you, my friend.” Kat’s large hand covered his shoulder.
“Were you?” A small cluster of cups sat in front of them, including a measure of his favourite liquor. Thjazi leaned over Teor to take it, relishing in the burn that slid down his throat. “All good things, I hope?”
Thimble snorted. “You’d like that, huh?”
“Yeah, yeah. Well its a good thing there’s no time for gossiping.” Thjazi knocked back the remainder of the Yahrgraz. “Thimble, Kat. Come with me. Pridesire, you can look after the kid.”
“So what? You can go upstairs and rob somebody?”
Thjazi sighed, taking a step back from the bar. It was his first time speaking to Teor since they left Loza and he was already regretting it. Kattigan barked out a laugh, slapping Thjazi on the backside.
“You think so little of us, old man. I’m not intending to rob anybody. Shall we?” He asked, turning to face Kat.
As they walked away, Teor frowned. “Wait a moment– you all left the boy alone?”
Thjazi followed Thimble up the spiralling staircase, laughing a bit at the race he seemed to have found himself in. With one hand he pulled the amulet from his leather satchel and held it in his palm. It was just as Kat’s contact had drawn out for him on a square of parchment: a large flat ring of gold. It was etched with a phrase, but it was not in a language Thjazi knew. But it didn’t matter. None of it would matter when the spoils of their heist finally falls into his hands.
He kicked the signalled door down with the heel of his boot. Inside, was a simple tavern room, adorned with two beds and a simple writing desk. What Thjazi was more interested in though, was the scowling dwarven man who was tied up in the middle of the floor. Lummouck Ashborn was breathing heavily through the dirty cloth gag which had been tied around his head.
“Hello old friend.” Thjazi said, slinging his satchel onto the hardwood ground. “You seem to have found yourself in a spot of trouble.” He nodded to Thimble to release Ashborn’s gag. An unfortunate thing for all of them, but necessary. He took a knee in front of their captured associate, and Kattigan fanned out on his left, beginning to search. It was an old dance: patting down mattresses, pulling at floorboards. They would be in and out.
With a string of curses, Ashborn spat the gag out of his mouth, bloodshot eyes glaring at Thjazi’s face (likely not helped by the shit-eating grin that graced it). He could tell the moment the dwarf noticed the golden amulet gripped between Thjazi’s gloved fingers, because his already ruddy complexion reddened impossibly more.
“Thjazi, you bastard.” Ashborn said, hurling a glob of spit at his eyes. Thjazi wiped it away, still smiling.
“Dont you worry, I get that a lot. I believe I have something of yours.”
“Damn right you do.” Ashborn responded gruffly, wriggling against his binds.
“Though,” Thjazi continued, swinging the amulet around his index finger, “I don’t think this is yours, is it Lummouck? From what I heard, you pilfered this pretty thing from the desk of a professor at the Penteveral. Isn’t that right?”
Ashborn sneered. “Why do you care, Thjazi? It’s just a piece of gold— it’s hardly worth sending your fairy to batter me?”
“Pixie.” Thimble admonished from the windowsill.
“Whatever.”
“It’s just not a piece of gold, though.” Thjazi sat back on the wooden floor, leaning forward to meet Ashborn’s eyes. “Is it? No, it’s not. This here is a key to something much greater.”
He gave Ashborn a moment to process. The angry flush faded somewhat from his cheeks, and his heavy breathing evened out as the dwarf finally looked Thjazi steady in the eyes. He really did look awful. Not that you could expect much from someone who was dishonourably discharged from the city’s oldest smuggler’s guild, but it was easy to tell Ashborn had been drinking his remaining coin away. Probably tucked away in that very room, from the way it stank.
“Should I gut him, Thaz?” Thimble said, flying so she was about a foot above Ashborn’s head.
“Not yet. But you can prick him a little.” With a needling wink, Thjazi rocked back onto his feet, making his way to the small and grimy window, where Kattigan had stopped patrolling and was instead fiddling with some sort of wooden box. The sill was lined with green bottles, marked with grimy fingerprints. “Find anything there?”
“Something, maybe. If I could open the damn thing.”
With a smooth movement, Thjazi pulled a set of thieves' tools from his belt: a curved iron hook and a silver rod. “Let me take a look. Maybe it’ll be easier to crack than the dwarf.”
“No luck then?”
A cry of pain sounded from behind them, accompanied by a mocking laughter.
“Not yet, but I’m not leaving until we get the location out of him.” Thjazi took the wooden box and began working on the locking mechanism.
“Shapers, Thjazi.” Kattigan said, looking up at him with an amused expression. “Any chance he doesn’t know?”
“There’s always a chance, but I doubt it. It’s a tomb, its underground. Ashborn is a dwarf, of course he knows. Aha!” With a click, the wooden box opened in his hands.
“Oi— hey, what the hell is going on over there? Agh—.”
“That’s none of your business now. Hyah!” Thimble said triumphantly, jabbing her needle into Ashborn’s shoulder blade. “We need one thing from you, and you know Thjazi’s going to get it.”
But Ashborn wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. “Dont you open that, Fang. Do you hear me?”
“Scared, Lummoux? I wonder why, because this box is full of nothing but papers. Correspondence, I assume. Don’t tell me you got a girl since we last met.”
“You’ll find nothing of worth in there. Listen to me, boy.” Spat Ashborn, writhing madly against his binds.
“Well someone’s going red. Maybe it really is a girl. Let’s take a look, huh?” Rifling through the papers confirmed it was mostly correspondence to the old criminal. As he also expected, none were from adoring women. To be entirely frank, the contents of those letters could incriminate even the most innocent man: robbery hits on noble carriages, reports of smuggling, threats, praise, ledgers of illegitimate payments, and much more. He would probably stash away most of these when they left, put them in a secret compartment at the bottom of his satchel until he was able to return home, but they were not what he was looking for.
“Not in there.” He said, tossing the box back to Kattigan. “Empty it though. Sort the shit from the gold for me.”
“You’re an arse Thjazi.” Ashborn spat. “A real shitstain, do you know that? What have I done to you?”
Thjazi pushed away from the window, beginning to circle the room himself. He was a shark in water. A cold and tired shark, but a shark nonetheless. “Oh nothing, nothing. You’ve always been such a good partner in this business.”
“Yes— yes. Yes, so let me go. Please.”
“Loyal, punctual, tight lipped. Ah, well,” Thjazi paused his pacing, “Apart from two weeks ago, when you sold us out to House Cormoray.”
Ashborn suddenly paled, and Thjazi knew then his theories had been right. He had figured as much ever since his Lady had informed him of the rumours which had begun to spread through the Sundered Houses like wildfire, and since he and Thimble had raided the Miner’s Guild on the Southern Walk for information, but nothing had been confirmed in his mind until now. Vaguely, his mind drifted downstairs, to Azune and Teor – who was undoubtedly bemoaning their leaving.
He turned to Thimble. “Light it up. I don’t want to be here longer than we have to be.”
Thimble nodded, and in one swift movement which was just too fast for the untrained eye to see, she flew up in a tight spiral, stopping suddenly before she hit the ceiling. Bright yellow fairy dust spread out from her wings, covering everything in a thin coating. Ashborn sneezed violently. Kattigan did too, with a muttered: “Damn it, fairy.” In a few seconds, every surface was covered, including a small round scroll case, carefully hidden behind the leg of the complementary writing desk.
Ashborn was silent as Thjazi sauntered over to the wardrobe, smugness in every stride. “The thing is, I don’t think you’re going to tell us where the tomb is, or why this amulet is important.” He said, swinging the gold ring around his finger once more. “Because you know whatever’s down there is worth far too much gold, and you’d rather die than let someone like me get that prize. Isn’t that right? After all… what was it he said to the young Lord Cormoray, Kat?”
“Far as I can remember, he called you a rookery rat and a disgrace to your wife’s house.”
“That's right. A shame, really.” Thjazi leaned down to scoop up the scroll case from the floor, picking at the twine holding it closed with practiced ease. “It’s a good thing this rat has a damn good nose. Isn’t it, Ashborn?” He asked, accentuating the question with a kick to the dwarf’s side.
“What you got there, Thaz?” Thimble asked, flying from her post to stand in the air beside him.
Their mission was a noble one, sure, but it was simple. Loza had made him swear he would complete it, and keep everyone safe while he did. And he would! But Shapers forbid he have some fun and make a bit of coin on the way. The scroll in his hands, roughly unfurled by impatient hands, brought the grin back onto his face.
“The location of a long dead arcanist’s tomb. Under the Green Mountains, eh Ashborn? That wasn’t so hard to explain.” Thjazi rolled the scroll up once more and tossed it to Kattigan. In a moment, the three of them worked in focused fluidity to clean up any remains of their search. Tossing his coat over a shoulder, Thjazi crouched once more before his old conspirator. Ashborn’s eyes had gone wide as saucers and there was an uncharacteristic tremble to his lip.
Thjazi raised a brow. “Come on now, you’ve got other sites you can hit, don't you?”
“You don’t understand what you’ve done.” Came the short reply. Spittle covered the edges of Ashborn’s auburn beard.
“Sure I don’t. Share some of the coin, my friend. It’s called goodwill.” He rose to his full height once more, stretching out his shoulders. Ashborn’s pleas meant next to nothing to him at this point. It wasn’t like they planned to kill the man, a few threats would win his silence easily enough, and Thjazi liked having people he knew in his pocket.
“You fucking child, Thjazi. It’s not just coin– you don’t know who’s got their eyes on the tomb.” That made him pause. A faint scent of charcoal wafted from downstairs as the kitchen closed up for the night. Kattigan moved to approach Ashborn, and Thjazi let him, watching from the window. With one movement, Kattigan grabbed the dwarf – who was still wriggling in his binds – by his collar and held him up to meet his eyes. Unfortunately for Ashborn, eye-level for Kattigan was about twice his own height. A wail tore out of his mouth as his feet left the ground and his shirt-collar began to dig into the back of his neck.
“What do you know?” Kattigan asked, always straight to the point.
“No- I can’t- I can’t tell you.”
Kattigan growled, and shook Ashborn. “What do you know, Lummoux? We can’t fucking stick around to wait for you to stop hiding shit.”
“I’m not hiding anything. I can’t tell you.”
“Bullshit.”
“Wait.” Thjazi said. Thimble flew over and landed on his shoulder, a hand ready on the hilt of her blade. “What do you mean you can’t tell us?”
Ashborn looked at Thjazi with abject horror clear on his face. “I can’t. I swore an oath. They’ll–” His words were cut off as he began violently gurgling on something in his throat. Kattigan dropped Ashborn to the ground as a thin purple foam started to spill from his lips.
“Thjazi, what the fuck.” Thimble said under her breath, but Thjazi was just as clueless as she was. Ashborn was convulsing on the wooden floor, damning words left for dead on his tongue.
“Cut his ropes.” He said, voice unsteady.
Kattigan knelt down, drawing a jagged hunting knife from his belt, and freed the dwarf. By the time he stepped away, Ashborn’s body had stopped moving and a pool of an unfamiliar milky purple liquid was forming on the floor under his cheek. The walls seemed to close in around Thjazi as he stepped around the body, feet slow and fumbling. Ever since he learned how to hold a knife to a person’s throat, Thjazi had interrogated his fair share of criminals. Never in his life had he seen something like this. Taking care to avoid the foaming substance, he pressed two fingers to the side of Ashborn’s neck, trying to feel for a pulse.
A long moment passed between the three of them. Thjazi stood, staring blankly at the body at his feet. “He’s fucking dead.”
Kattigan immediately took a few steps away from the corpse, holding his hands up. “Wasn’t me. That was not me. I’ve never made someone puke soap before.”
“Of course it wasn’t you, dumbass.” Thimble sniped at him. “Would you even know how to do something like this?”
“Would you?” He shot back, rolling his eyes.
“Whatever the hells happened, I don’t think he did it.” Thjazi was smart. In fact, he often allowed himself to bask in the feeling of outsmarting everyone in the room. He had negotiated deals and alliances with his words and mind alone, and excelled in every skill he set his mind to figuring out. But all he knew now was, no matter what just happened, they needed to get the fuck out. “Grab everything we need. Let's scram.”
After a short scramble, they began piling out of the door. Thjazi’s mind was so occupied with thoughts that he didn’t notice someone in front of him until his face was pressed up against a furred chest. Kattigan yanked him back by a shoulder, and Thjazi blinked dizzily up at a frowning Teor.
“Where are you all–”
“No time to explain.” Thimble squeaked, flying over Teor’s shoulder towards the stairs. “We gotta go!”
Thjazi grimaced. It looked bad, he knew it looked bad. No doubt he would have to spend hours later down the line convincing Teor this didn’t need to reach Loza’s ears, but there were bigger threats facing them right now. If whatever benefactor Ashborn was working under was willing to take him out so easily for just uttering their name, they surely wouldn’t be happy that the scroll (which was tucked into the secret compartment of Thjazi’s satchel) had gone missing. He could only hope they would be long gone before anyone of importance came searching for the dead dwarf in Room 2.
Teor was swept up in between Thjazi and Kattigan as they rushed downstairs. Reaching the bottom, Kattigan hopped over the banister and rushed to the table where Azune still sat. Out of the corner of his eye, Thjazi watched him shake the boy’s shoulders and push him onto his feet. Teor was trying and failing to grab Thjazi’s attention, who was following Thimble through the small crowd which had gathered at the foot of the stairs.
“Thjazi, stop for a moment. There was thumping and wailing from above– the whole tavern heard it.”
“Sounds like someone was having fun.” Thjazi retorted, but his heart wasn’t in the euphemism. The crowd was small enough– a few nosy sods– and the Guard Tower wasn’t exactly known as the most peaceful place in Dol-Makjar, being home to the Crow Keepers. Probably, people would lose interest in minutes. So he wasn’t worried. That was, at least, until he saw the orcish barmaid leave her post to make her way over to him, a frown on her face. Continuing to ignore Teor, he scanned the room, spotting Kattigan and Azune. ‘Faster. We’re leaving.’ He communicated to Kattigan in a short burst of hand gestures known more fondly as Thieves Speech. From the other side of the crowd, Kattigan nodded, shoving Azune more forcefully around the rowdy drinkers.
Bursting through the inn doors into the rainy street of Dol-Makjar felt like breathing air again for the first time in hours. They moved as a unit through the mud and mire of Caravan Hill.
“To the cart!” Thjazi called over his shoulder. “Let’s go, move it.”
“Thjazi? Did you murder somebody?” Azune asked as they ran, incredulous.
“Murder is a complicated word!” Kattigan responded for him, already heading for the horses. “We were bystanders.”
“Bystanders my ass.” Came Teor, ever the one to get in a quip in a high pressure situation. “You couldn’t have let me finish my drink before you ran us out?”
“Oh shut up, Teor.”