Daggers and the Soul Ambry

1. The Ghaphis Job

"Bloody humans and their bloody torches!"

The hooded figure hissed at her companions while staring out over the tiny hamlet from the roof of an abandoned brewery. The acrid stink of ancient hops and barley assaulted their smell, but with Izzara's blessing, this would be the evening they could climb from the rotting shingles and complete their mission. All four of them, clad in the same oiled black leather uniforms they've worn for the past week, had been waiting in the shadows since nightfall. The brilliant orange light from the torches on the storefronts messed with their natural night vision, but as always, they adjusted.

Their current mission had taken them to the modest village of Ghaphis where the Argosy Forest surrounded the town, while mountains pushed in the distance against Rawyer's Sea. It was a brewery town and with that brought criminal elements. The Ariorford Kingdom and Grayvine Kingdom sat on both sides of Ghaphis, separated by a stone road through the middle. This led to various forms of smuggling moving easily between the two areas. Gangsters would run illegal Stormspirit liquor, Dempa mushrooms, slaves, and spellslingers, which proved popular.

On this cool autumn night, the shadowy visitors in the border town weren't here to stop booze-runners or skeevy drug peddlers. The contraband they were looking for was children. Drow children and the slaver responsible for moving them. Many shadow elf communities had been reporting missing kids for weeks. The drow empire tasked these four to find those kids, or at least the people guilty. After several days of chasing leads and greasing the filthy palms of officials, they've narrowed it down to this rural community. The town was miles from anywhere, which made it easy to move unnoticed over the border. They fixed their gaze on a cramped cottage across the street from the decaying building they rested on.

"Inspector, so tell me again why our mark would be hiding here, of all places?" One shadowy figure asked another.

Her head ached, first from her eyes trying to adjust to the flickering torches and second from the incessant questions that her newest recruit felt the need to ask. She rolled from her belly onto her side to address him. "Thulaeth, my job is to know, and your task is to do what I tell you." She lowered her black hood with thin gloved fingers, and the moon glinted in her emerald stare. Her scowl and stern tone reminded him of his station as a simple fighter and not to question her leadership. Saffron moved the covering back over her silver hair, she squinted and observed the cottage across the way.

The naïve soldier cleared his throat. "Of course. Apologies, Inspector."

"Our target is Zigfrid Mallor, a human wizard of medium talent. Our response should be swift." She moved from her position and sat, the wooden shingles under her clattered against each other. "Our sources told us a fortnight ago he transported drow children across the border from Greyvine to Ariorford. It's a small town, no King's guard. Unnoticeable, especially under the cover of night. The empire believes the kids are being moved to Vol Muuthik's slave markets. He must know that someone is closing in on him, so he's holed up here waiting for the heat to die down."

"The 'heat'?"

"Us. We're the heat." Dayne, the largest of the group, looked at him.

Thulaeth, the newcomer, piped up once more. "Why smuggle Drow children for slaves? Their bodies aren't accustomed to field or maritime work." Dayne slugged him in the arm, and the lady glared at him with her head cocked.

Maarko, the veteran, took his turn at the rookie. "You idiot. The kids are going to be used in other ways."

His gaze lowered with embarrassment once he realized what they meant. "Oh, yeah."

"It is our job as members of the Drow Affairs Guild to bring those responsible for crimes against our people to justice. This man has destroyed families and profited from it." She pointed toward four armored soldiers surrounding the home. "Did you see those troops?"

The three men nodded.

"Those are heavy hitters. Note the orange scarves they wear. Mercenaries wearing the banner of Vol Muuthik. We have to end them quietly. It's critical that we don't alert Zigfrid Mallor or he'll flee." She examined the house and found one light burning. Her attention focused on a shadow stirring beyond the window. "Our mark is in there and from what I can tell, by himself." She shifted her gaze to Thulaeth. "You stay up here and use your crossbow on the two in front." She turned to face the others. "When Thu completes that, you'll move around and clear the rear. If Mallor runs, the back door will be the first place he goes."

They rose from their position and moved with stealth down the wooden shingles on the roof. Moistened cold earth met their soft leather boots. Bred and trained in the academy at Ara Zenta, their skill with silence has always given them an edge and in their line of work, their edge is invariably the sharpest. They proceeded through the tiny alley before halting at the street. In the late hour, they observed the lane was clear in both directions. Dogs barked in the distance and broke the quietness of the night.

The Inspector took a step in front of them. "Remember, our mark is a mage. Our observations show he's alone, thus anything else in that house is most likely a distraction. Maintain your focus. Our goal is to apprehend him." A gloved finger raised and pointed to each of them. "Is that clear? We want him alive to stand before the tribunal." They nodded, although they each wanted to cut this guy's parts off for what he puts children through.

"Let's have a look at you." Her eyes gave them a quick battlefield inspection. Each soldier wore their trade's soft black oiled leather gear. Rawhide straps lined their pants and sleeves to hold it snug against their bodies. Thick dull purple cloth wrapped over their torsos, secured in place by canvas bands. Their belts were loaded with pouches containing dusts, oils, and bandages. Each of them had two Tharnoir grenades which, upon detonation, magical darkness, would envelop the area, giving them twenty seconds to do what they do best. Shadow elves spend an entire year of their training fighting blindfolded, relying solely on their hearing to guide them. Two dark-bladed short swords hung low on their backs and their standard-issue dagger on their hips completed the ensemble.

Offering a nod of approval and one more piece of instruction. "From this point on, we'll communicate through hand language only. Once Thulaeth has dropped the soldiers in front, move in on those in the back. When I knock on the door, Mallor will surely notice I'm not alone. Stay concealed and wait for my signal. Understood?" They both gave her a thumbs up, crouched low as they crossed the street, and moved close to the cottage's side.

Saffron made eye contact with Thulaeth, who was still on overwatch. Turning to face her, he winked and readied his Ebonwood crossbow. She rolled her eyes at his cocky and impetuous demeanor. The Inspector handpicked him because his abilities more than compensated for his attitude. Thu's a skilled marksman who could pick locks, counterfeit documents, and disarm traps. While fancying himself a ladies' man, his arrogant disposition chased most women off. There was much for him to learn, but the more time he'll spend in the field, the more valuable he'll become. Saffron nodded to him and turned to her more experienced troopers.

Dayne and Maarko concealed themselves in a cluster of shrubbery at the rear of the cottage and waited. She motioned to them to see whether there were more unnoticed soldiers. Maarko held up two fingers and gripped them with his other fist, showing two more guards were near them. That's perfect, she thought. Zigfrid Mallor is complacent, only bringing four mercs. She glanced at Thulaeth, pointed one finger, then another at him, and pointed down to the ground. He gave her a slight grin, then nodded his agreement.

He took the crossbow stock firm into his shoulder. A drow weapon crafted from the sturdy Ebonwood trees found in subterranean tunnels of Capranio'DuChamp seldom leaves his side. He brought the first mercenary into an iron ring that served as his sights.

The target, an unwary and distracted soldier, wore the burnished half-plate armor that was common with mercenaries strapped over his body. Pieces of rusted and dented armor scavenged from battlefield corpses, still stained with their crusted blood, proved too substantial to cover this man's slender frame. He kept fidgeting with the straps, trying to force the plates to fit more snug but appeared to only make it worse. Wrapped around his neck was an orange and white scarf. Saffron knew this symbolized his affiliation with the Vol Muuthik slave market.

"Stop messing with it, Barby!" His com padre's whisper was sharp and scornful. "You're making a racket!"

"I can't help it, Thom! It's been driving me crazy all day! Itching and what-not!" He jangled the plates on his arm.

"You're going to get us in trouble and Dame Jewel will have our heads, you idiot!" He turned, deciding it would be best if he resumed his patrol away from his clanging and rattling partner.

Barby gave up wrestling with his ill-fitting armor, realizing that if he made his friend mad, he might have no one to talk to for the rest of the night. He let the pieces hang where gravity took them and walked in the opposite direction. "This is frightfully boring and here I am wearing shitty armor on a shitty night." His frustration peaked but was forgotten, as an extended yawn forced his mouth open.

Don't worry, little buddy, Thu's going to help you with that rattling armor. He drew a bead on the soldier's face and steadied himself. With a gentle squeeze of the trigger and a hushed whoosh, the missile traced a path straight into his yawning mouth.

Thulaeth heard him gurgle on his blood as his eyes opened full and deep red crimson drooled from his lips. Confused, the merc twisted, his armor clanging and crashing and his arms struggled with the indecision to either pull the arrow from his throat or try to get Thom's attention. He wouldn't have to worry about the latter.

"Shit!" Saffron's heart dropped when she witnessed the banging, dying guard stumbling around. She threw a glance up to Thulaeth, who grappled with his weapon.

Thulaeth uttered the same word as he fumbled to pull the string back and grabbed the charging ring on his crossbow. His bow was a self-loading type of his own design, with a five-magazine capacity. It was slow to load but faster than manually inserting a bolt. His aim was directed towards the second merc, who heard his partner's ruckus.

Thom turned and saw his comrade stumbling around, an arrow stuck from his mouth. "Oi! Barby? What happened?" Barby's heavily armored body collapsed with a banging thud on the ground. Now alerted, the remaining mercenary scanned the area and drew his sword. He scoured the dark rooftops but didn't see the mysterious sniper. Thulaeth had kept the target on the man, then fired his second bolt which sunk deep into the soft flesh of Thom's forehead. The kill was instant, with only the sound of his corpse smacking the spongy earth.

Saffron held two fingers and smacked them into her open palm to the others. Dayne smiled and advanced on the guard closest to him, who sat on a tree stump and was oblivious to the commotion at the front of the home. The mercenary's eyelids flitted and were heavy with sleep. It doesn't get any easier than this, does it, D? He stayed low to his target and squished his way through the black mud.

The warrior's weary lids opened enough to notice a massive shadow lunging toward him. The blazing red eyes of a monster stood out against his barely detectable dark skin. Shafts of moonlight touched and highlighted his creaking black leather outfit for a brief time.

His eyes widened as the glint of a silver edge caught his gaze, but his reaction was sluggish.

Dayne's hefty frame charged forward with his dagger drawn approaching the now-awakened soldier. The mercenary fumbled, attempting to pull his sword from his scabbard. What a fool! Pulling a sword on someone that he is a few feet away from? He clutched the fellow's greasy ruddy hair and plunged the knife deep into the side of his skull.

His victim's eyes grew wide, and pupils dilated. Thick, watery tears formed and then trailed down his grimy cheeks. Dayne's experience told him the man was in his last moments. A slight trickle of blood seeped from around his blade until he yanked it out with a horrific thunk. Brains and ichor clung to the silver edge as his muscular arms held the corpse's shoulders and guided his body to the ground. He cleaned the gore from his weapon with the Vol Muuthik scarf before returning it to its scabbard.

Maarko used his partner's initiative and maneuvered around to his target, dagger drawn and leading the way. This mercenary was entirely too busy digging in his pockmarked snout to hear any of the commotions that had been happening near him. You have got to be kidding me! Dame Jewel spared no expense, did she?

The "idiot" pulled his fat finger from his nose and inspected his discovery. As he rolled it between his fingers, searing pain in the back of his neck shocked him. It lasted a mere second, then his vision turned dark.

He awoke in a beautiful meadow full of unicorns and prancing half-naked nymphs. Brilliant orange clouds filled the sky, and the aroma of honey mead and roses pleased his senses. He noticed a crowd of his friends and family who had passed years before standing in the tall grass welcoming him. The "idiot" would subsequently learn that his life had ended that night, but it didn't matter anymore.

Maarko plunged his blade into the base of the merc's brain. The troops' last word was a half-spoken "Wha-? "followed by gurgles of spit. He held his victim to the soft soil and left it for the carrion.

Both specialists looked at Saffron and pointed out that the guards were no longer a concern. Her teeth gritted, still agitated by Thulaeth's theatrics. He had attempted to create a spectacle rather than taking a clean shot between the eyes and nearly ended the mission before it began. I'll address that issue with him later, she concluded. The others are professionals. Silent and deadly, no showing off.

The house remained quiet, and no alarms had sounded. Zigfrid's shadow passed through the window occasionally and he appeared alone. She raised her head to Thulaeth and circled her finger in the air, then pointed to the ground next to her for him to join her. As he neared, she gave him that glaring stare. He knew he was in trouble for that "arrow in the throat" business, but she'd make him sweat for a few hours. The mission was the priority and her scolding would have to stand by.

Saffron, pleased that her men had taken care of the mercenaries, strode to the heavy wooden door. She raised her fist to knock when Thulaeth whispered. "Wait." She stopped and stared at him. He pointed to the carved sigil of an encircled heart on the frame. "It's a magical alarm." He had the ability or skill to detect magical auras where the others could not. She jerked her hand back and took a glance around the windows and recognized more carvings. These would be defensive sigils that warded off any undesirable visitors. Had she knocked, it would have alerted the mage, allowing him to escape.

With discretion, she moved closer to Dayne and made the sign for "sigils." When he looked up at the window frame, he realized what she was talking about. Maarko saw additional carvings surrounding the windows.

Saffron cleared her throat and announced, stern but loud, "Zigfrid Mallor?" Shadows danced through the windows, proving he heard her and now scrambled around.

She stated it once more. "Zigfrid Mallor? I'm Drow Affairs Guild Inspector Saffron DeGuerro. Open the door or we will open it for you!"