MPF 2.01 – The Cost of Duty

The Cost of Duty

A Fantasy Short Story

by Zach Ricks

#

Fabian woke in the cool of the evening, ready for the evening's activities. He lay silently on the bed, listening to the cool breeze blowing through his home. His home. He remembered the nights on the streets of Tharsis, catching a nap on a rooftop, never safe, never sheltered.

Even his days in the guild had been uncertain. There was always the fear. Fear of getting caught. Fear of not making enough. Fear of not being able to satisfy the guild-master. Fear of saying or doing something to offend someone bigger and stronger than you.

Alexander had given him something that he'd never thought he'd have – a sense of security. He breathed deeply. It had taken him some time. But he'd finally bought a little place for himself in the artisan's section of the city. He'd prevented a few thefts of the local merchant's shops because he was a very light sleeper, and he'd laid a few traps to discourage unwanted visitors. His own place was above a paper-merchant's shop. The smells of ink and paper and other supplies wafted up in the night, filling his nostrils with a pleasant odor.

He was able to read most anything he liked from the parchment seller – and he'd acquired a copy of Diogenes' poetry which he read from time to time.

He smiled to himself. Maybe after tonight's insanity, he would have a week or two to putter around the house and straighten up. And maybe soon he'd leave the soldiering life altogether and find himself a willing wife. The thought made him smile. Fabian the thief, become Janus Fabian Tacitus, family man. He sighed and rose to begin the night's work. Enough time for thoughts of family later. He would need all his wits around him tonight. After all, tonight, he and his companions would be breaking into the Imperial Treasury.

#

"I wish those healers would make up their minds as to what's ailing Marcus." Ragnar groused, scowling at his cup of nectar. The three of them normally would be drinking something darker, harder, and a good deal more alcoholic in nature, but it was early yet and those same healers had provided a table and some light refreshment in an open, airy gallery. The scent of flowers wafted in on the breeze.

Fabian nodded. "We know what's wrong with him, Ragnar. That spell… who knew it could have that kind of effect? It burned a part of him away."

Ragnar grunted.

"The barriers between his mind and the wild magic grew too thin."

Ragnar grunted again.

"Perhaps they can be repaired," Alexander suggested. "The temple of Athalia has the best healers in the world."

"It wouldn't be so bad if he'd stop randomly summoning that fireball and giggling. I can't stand to hear him tittering away at it."

Alexander nodded. "We'll stand by him. Ragnar. He'd do the same for us. And he's still there. Different, but still there. Mostly." They all drank at that.

One of the priests approached. "General Alexander, sir, the Emperor's cancellarius is here to see you. Shall I show him in?" The priest glanced back toward the cells. Alexander glanced at his companions, then nodded. "Please invite Chancellor Auron to join us."

The priest bowed and retreated. Ragnar's hand tightened around his oaken cup. "Auron here? Already? We've only been back two days and already he means to send us out again?"

"Perhaps he's here to offer his concern and assistance for Marcus." Alexander said with a shrug.

They all kept their own counsel as to how likely that was.

Auron was a slender man, his white robes offset with a purple sash, denoting his position as a member of the Imperial Household, and a necklace of ebony links indicating his devotion to Caprimulgi. He was nominally in charge of handling… independent operators in the service of the Emperor, and so all their assignments came from him. He smelled vaguely of olive oil and spices. Black curly hair and a short beard framed wide blue eyes and a clear brow. But despite his wholesome appearance, Fabian suspected the man's soul was as black as the chains around his neck.

He strode behind the empty chair, but had the good sense not to sit down. Instead, he rested his palms on the chair's back, and shook his head. "Poor Marcus. He had such potential. He was a great asset to the Empire. His service will be sorely missed." Auron sighed. "He had no next of kin, as I recall?"

"None." Alexander replied. "Your concern is touching, Chancellor, but perhaps premature. Marcus is not dead."

"No. But an insane magus is not someone I would trust with Imperial business." He gave Alexander a pointed look. "Nor is it someone I would want watching my back." No one responded.

"At any rate, I'm not merely here to offer condolences. As it happens, your timing in arriving back at Tharsis is impeccable." Auron paused and pursed his lips, gazing at Alexander. "Fortuitous, in fact."

Alexander shrugged. "We are not at full strength, and have only arrived a few days ago from months of harassing Dacian supply lines. Our companion lies ailing in the Temple of Athalia. How may we, fatigued and weakened as we are, be of service to the Empire?"

Auron's eyes narrowed. "Oh, you won't be going far, I assure you. The Imperial Treasury has just undergone a rather extensive renovation. Our security has been increased, and I would like you and your," he gestured at Fabian and Ragnar "companions, to offer your assessment of our methods."

Alexander and Fabian shared a glance. Fabian had grown up on the streets of Tharsis, a member of the Guild of Red Hands – the thieves of the Imperial City. He'd been fairly accomplished until he'd attempted to pick the pocket of one Maximus Alexander Aurelius and wound up first as a bound servant, then as a protege, then as a friend and companion. Fabian gave a small nod.

"We would be happy to review any security measures you have in place and offer suggestions for improving security."

Auron cleared his throat. "Ah. I had something more of a direct test in mind."

Fabian's eyebrow raised. "Oh?"

Auron considered the former thief. "Yes. I'd like you to make an attempt to enter the Imperial Treasury."

Alexander blinked. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm quite serious. I need an honest assessment of the security of the Imperial Treasury, and I need it from professionals. That means you. And that means an attempt."

"You will, of course, inform the Imperial Guard that we are coming? And to be extra watchful?" Fabian suggested.

"Of course not. No one warns their victim that they are about to be robbed. And as I said, I need an honest assessment."

Alexander glanced at his companions. "This is highly unorthodox, Chancellor Aur…" he stopped mid-syllable, and cocked his head, as if listening to something – a faint whisper. His eyes narrowed, and he nodded to himself. "As I was saying, highly unorthodox, Chancellor. But if this is the will of the Emperor, then we are his servants and we will of course obey."

Auron's eyes also narrowed. "Very well. I look forward to your attempt. And I hope you will not think it amiss if I hope that you do not succeed."

"We shall try our best give an… honest assessment… of the Treasury's defenses."

Fabian kept his face absolutely still. He was almost quivering. An attempt on the Royal Treasury? No thief would be that stupid. It would take a guild-trained master thief even to contemplate it. And he would have to have the god's own luck. Even if he did succeed, the repercussions on every other guild member in the city would be devastating. It would result in a purge of the City, a burning of any known or suspected hideout, a systematic cleansing that would cripple the Guild's ability to function, and more than likely cause a number of innocents to be caught in the sweeps and executed as well.

But the thought of all of that wealth was enough to make any thief shiver. Even a reformed one.

Auron glanced around the table, his eyes lingering on Fabian for a moment, then he smiled broadly, bowed, and retreated.

The curtain had no sooner stilled at the Chancellor's passing than Barak and Fabian said at the same time "This is a bad idea." They looked at each other, and then back at Alexander, who was staring at the juice in his cup.

"A bad idea. Yes, I suppose it is. Still, we've done crazier things than this."

"Not in our own backyard, Alexander." Fabian protested.

"Still, it'll make a hell of a story…" Ragnar stroked his thick, braided, blonde mustachios.

Alexander stood. "It's the will of the Emperor. And the will of the Gods. And it is our duty to obey." At that, any further protest was futile, Fabian knew. Once Alexander started in on the Gods and duty, they might as well be arguing with the tides for all the good it would do. "How much time do you need to prepare?"

Ragnar shrugged. "For something this stupid? How drunk can I get and still swing an axe? And how long will it take me to get there? Maybe an hour?"

Fabian smiled at the barbarian. "Well, I'll have to make sure that I have my tools, and perhaps a few other preparations… but I could be ready in perhaps as little as three hours?"

"Good. Tonight is too soon for me. We'll make the attempt tomorrow night."

Fabian and Ragnar shared a long look over the table. "Right." Fabian said. "Idiocy on this grand a scale shouldn't be delayed too long."

#

The thought of a family was still on Fabian's mind as they made their way through the sewers beneath the palace. They'd circumvented the guard at the sewer entrance using a blowdart and a sleeping potion Fabian had procured from a local apothecary. He was sleeping peacefully just inside the locked grate. Fabian had the key in a pouch at his belt.

They'd managed to avoid most of the traps – deadfalls and tripwires with spears, that kind of thing. At one point, Ragnar's mustachios had triggered a trap as he'd been maneuvering between tripwires. The trapdoor had been a good fifteen feet deep – but where there would normally have been spears, there were only the holes for installing them below.

Alexander considered the trap for a moment, then shook his head. "Auron hasn't completed the installation yet."

"He doesn't want to kill us? That's nice of him."

The Treasury itself was passable from above by passing six armed guards, three heavy locked and bolted doors, and a particular chamber that required one to follow a path exactly to avoid acid traps from activating.

It was passable from below in case of the need to evacuate the capital for whatever reason – invasion from without or rebellion from within. By using a particular key in the treasury, the traps leading out and down to the sewer and then to the river could be deactivated entirely, allowing the fleeing Emperor to preserve a war-chest with which to retake the city, and from there, the rest of the Empire, should the need arise.

They reached the door to the treasury largely intact. Fabian breathed a sigh as he scanned the door for a way in.

"Fabian, I don't want you to enter the treasury itself." Alexander's words came haltingly – muted.

Fabian didn't look up, he was probing a minuscule keyhole with his tools. "What? Are you joking?"

"I know you've changed since your days with the Red Hand, but… well… this IS the Imperial Treasury. I'd rather there was no possibility of misunderstanding. I hope you understand."

Fabian paused. The door was compromised – only a small turn of the tools and they'd be in. "Do we even need to get in at all?"

"Ragnar and I need to get in, yes. But I'd feel better if you held up here and guarded our retreat. It's the way a professional thief would do it, right? Cover the escape route? Make sure the door stays open and that everyone can get out with the loot?"

Fabian chuckled. "Glad to see I wasn't just learning from you. Yes, in this case, you'd want someone on the outside to cover the retreat. You ready?"

Alexander nodded. "Yes. Ragnar?"

Ragnar sniffed, and shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose on a real job you'd have brought me along to carry the loot out?"

"Well, that and trip wires with your ridiculous mustache." Fabian quipped. "You always want one person on the team who's less coordinated than everyone else."

"Who's to say this isn't a real job?" Alexander said, just as the door opened. "It's just not a theft."

Alexander strode to the center of the treasury, Ragnar behind him. The room was dark, except for a single torch carried by Ragnar. Fabian nocked an arrow to a short bow he'd kept tucked in his light pack, and waited for the "assessment" to be completed.

"HALT IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR!" The bellow was sudden. Lights flared up around a second story of the treasury. Fabian glanced in to see archers standing and drawing arrows aimed at Alexander and Ragnar.

Fabian shrugged, and made to enter the treasury, but he caught Alexander's eye and a small shake of the head warning him not to enter. A chill ran down Fabian's spine. Alexander had known this was going to happen? Wasn't this a simple probe of security?

Ragnar dropped his axe, and both of them raised their arms slowly. Alexander spoke. "We are performing a security assessment of the facility at the command of Chancellor Auron."

"Liar." The response was clear. The voice was Auron's. "My sources warned me that an attempt on the Imperial Treasury was coming. I never conceived that you would be the one who would try to rob your own Emperor. Maximus Alexander Aurelius, how could you have betrayed your Emperor so?"

Fabian saw Ragnar's eyes grow wide, and a snarling curse started across his lips, but at the sight of so many arrows, even the barbarian had to face the facts. They had been set up.

"Where is the thief, Fabian?"

Alexander's mouth became a straight line. Ragnar laughed. "He had more sense than us, I suppose." Fabian hesitated. What could he do? Enter the Treasury and begin a battle that would surely get them all killed? What could he do?

"I'm sure Fabian is either at home or enjoying a quiet drink somewhere. His loyalty to the Empire has been unflinching. It's unfortunate. This would have been much easier with his help." Alexander nodded once toward the door.

Fabian took the hint. Through the numb shock that was enveloping him, he replaced the bow and arrow and quickly retreated down the corridor. Auron would be checking on his location, and he'd better be where Alexander had said he would be.

Without having to consider the other two, his passage back down the corridor was swift and silent. As he ran, Fabian considered the look on Alexander's face. There was an utter lack of surprise. He'd known Auron had been setting them up. And he'd taken the job anyway. Why?

#

Fabian arrived at his home, having removed his hood and mask on the way down the street. His pack went under his work table, and he was stripping off his stinking boots when the knock at the door came.

"Who's there at this time of night?"

"Open in the name of the Emperor!" the voice came back.

"Hang on, I'm coming." The boots off, Fabian dusted his hands and glanced around. Nothing out that looked incriminating. The pack was under the table. He nodded.

He drew back the bolt and opened the door. Quickly he was swarmed by three guards. Once he was on the ground, a spear pointed at his throat and another at his belly, and had been checked for weapons – which he had none on his person – a fourth man entered the little home above the scroll-seller.

Auron strolled around the room, considering the simple furnishings, the scrolls carefully piled in the corner, the stinking boots.

He nodded at the guards. "Leave us." The leader opened his mouth to protest, but apparently the expression on the Chancellor's face left no room for argument. "Aye, sir."

The spears withdrew, and the guards stepped outside. Fabian saw them taking station around the door before it shut.

"Well, Janus Fabian Tacitus, it seems that your companions have been implicated in an attempt to rob the Imperial Treasury."

Fabian shook his head. "So, they were caught?"

"Indeed they were. But I can't help but wonder why on such a job as the one you were assigned that you did not accompany them. You're the one with the most experience in the -ah- acquisition of materials, aren't you?"

Fabian shrugged and didn't offer a response.

"Why didn't you accompany them tonight, Fabian?" Auron pressed.

"Honestly, it sounded like a setup. And I didn't feel like putting myself up as a candidate for the crucifiers. Also, if I was caught attempting to enter the Imperial Treasury, that might reflect badly on prior associates I've had. And they're not the kind I would willingly inconvenience."

"Ah. The Red Hands. It would be prudent to stay on their good side. That shows good sense on your part."

Fabian's mind flashed in a sudden prayer to Collocan, god of thieves, stealth, and speed. Give my thoughts and my tongue speed this night. A sense of warmth filled him, and he blinked in surprise at the sudden sense of calm.

"Indeed. Good sense is something that a man in my position can always use." Auron gave Fabian a calculating look. "Would you be interested in a proposition? Your companions are for the headsman, it's true. A necessary sacrifice. But you are a resourceful young man, with many talents, a good head that's still on your shoulders, and associates in the right places. I could use a man like you. Caprimulgi could use a man like you." Auron took an ebon ring from a hidden pocket and placed it on the table. "Caprimulgi's influence will be growing throughout the Empire. And someone who attached himself to the god's service now would be well-rewarded as that influence increased."

Fabian stared at the ring on the table. It didn't reflect the light at all – instead catching and swallowing it.

"Of course, someone who spurned that offer might well find themselves no longer in a good position. In fact, they would more than likely come to a bad end."

Fabian made no move toward the ring.

"What do you say, Fabian? Enter my service. Enter Caprimulgi's service. And the rewards will be great. Or refuse, and prepare to suffer the consequences."

Fabian looked into Auron's eyes – the bright blue eyes that seemed to inspire trust. He saw the wide smile, the white teeth, the thick mane of curly black hair. The smell of oil and spices seemed to fill the room. And Fabian for a moment had a vision of wealth, of splendor. Of status and respect the likes of which a poor boy from the streets could never know. It was an enticing thought. And the only price would be to abandon his friends and put on a ring.

"I will need to consider my options, Chancellor."

"Do not consider overlong, Fabian. This offer will not last long."

Without a further word, Auron left, leaving the ring on the table behind him. With the door shut behind him, Fabian had to resist the urge to cast the ring into the street. He reached to pick it up, but something about touching it with his bare skin suddenly repulsed him. He reached without looking for a glove, and only after his hand was safely protected behind the leather did he stretch out his hand to pick it up.

What would it cost him to take the Dark One's service? If he didn't he would probably be killed. After all, he'd been there when the assignment had been given. Even if he wasn't killed, he'd probably lose his home, be cast back out on the streets. The pressure the Chancellor and his people could bring on the merchant class was immeasurable.

But if he did, what would he lose? He thought for a moment of Alexander and Ragnar in the castle dungeons, waiting for the headsman's axe. Knowing Auron, this would not be a long wait.

He felt the sudden warmth again, and he placed the ring carefully on the table again, and reached for his boots. He had a lot to do this evening. Hooded, masked, cloaked and gloved, he reached for the ring and put it in a pouch at the wrist of one glove.

Fabian took one last item before he left. The collection of poetry found a place in his pack. He would not be back to collect it later. Auron would have his home watched, he was sure, so he doused the lights for the last time and reached for the trap door that led to the roof. No one knew the roofs of Tharsis like a thief, and Fabian had often found himself out for a bit of midnight exercise to keep his wits and senses sharp. He marked the places where people would be watching the home, and set off on a circuitous route for the temple district.

He didn't know if Collocan was guiding him or not. He didn't want to be touched by the gods. But he did know that his next move would require some help. And gods help them all, the only place to get it might be from a half-crazed mage.

#

It is much easier to enter a dungeon than it is to exit it. Of course, both are made simpler if one has a few things.

Uniforms of the guards. Written orders. And familiarity with the routines and personnel. If one is supposed to be there, or at least acts as though one is supposed to be there, entry can be fairly simple.

Unfortunately for Fabian and Marcus, they had none of those things.

"How do we get in?" Marcus asked. The mageflame ball he normally played with was smaller – no bigger than the iris of a man's eye, and it blazed its way through various colors – red, yellow, green, blue, purple, then back to red again.

"Let me talk to the guards."

Marcus shrugged, giggled, and extinguished the mageflame speck.

They strode to the door through the middle of the lane. A pair of guards stood at attention.

"State your name and purpose!"

"Janus Fabian Tacitus. I am here on Chancellor Auron's business." Which was true enough. If it hadn't been for Auron's scheming, Alexander and Ragnar wouldn't be in the dungeons now accused of attempted theft.

"We've had no word from the Chancellor that any of his agents are coming." The guard's eyes narrowed suspiciously the pair. "In fact, we were told to be on high alert for an attempted breakout."

Fabian nodded. "Of course. I am here to review your security and satisfy the Chancellor that his orders have been obeyed. He will be quite distraught if the prisoners were to escape before their… sentence… is carried out."

"Now see here," the guard began, but the words died on his lips when Fabian reached into the pouch at his glove and withdrew the ring Auron had left on the table.

"You know what this is?" Fabian whispered.

"Ah. Yes."

Fabian leaned in close. "Then you know that we are here on the Chancellor's command. And he is not the kind of man who brooks argument or delay."

"Ah. No. No, he is not."

"Open the gates and let me in, then." Fabian returned the ring to its pouch.

The guards shared a nervous glance, then one of them shrugged. "Yes, of course sir."

Fabian glanced at the one who had not spoken during their conversation. He was paler than the other, shaking, nervous. "We'll require an escort through the dungeon to see that we are not held up by other diligent inquiries as to our person and purpose. Come with us." His tone brooked no argument. The guard licked his lips and looked around as though seeking an escape from a horrible fate. Seeing none, he licked his lips again and stammered "Y-y-y-yes, sir."

Their trip through the dungeon to the cell was swift enough, but they encountered enough guards to make Fabian grateful for the escort. They had more than a few suspicious glances as they proceeded down, but no more than that. After all, they were headed in the right direction.

Fabian marked the number of doors and checkpoints as they descended. Three doors, each guarded by at least two guards, one guarded by four. The doors were iron-banded oak reinforced with heavy bars.

They were in the bottom of the dungeons now. The air was moist and you could taste the stench from the cells. Marcus coughed once, giggled, but did not bring back the mageflame. "Thank goodness for small favors." Fabian thought to himself.

The cell where Alexander and Ragnar were being held had a solid iron door. Two more guards stood outside the door, heavy polearms in their hands. Fabian glanced at his escort. They'd made their trip in mostly silence, with the occasional Two more guards stood outside the door, heavy polearms in their hands. They'd made the trip in silence, save for the occasional disapproving grunt from Fabian, and a titter from Marcus. Marcus giggled again, a high pitched sound that made their escort flinch, and the other guards shift in their footing.

Fabian shook his head. "Those polearms look impressive, but in the confines of this passage, they're absolutely ineffective." He strode up to the men and held out a hand to one. "Let me see your sword."

The guard opened his mouth as if to protest, but Fabian caught the shaking head of their escort that stopped his complaint. "Yes, sir." he muttered, drawing his sword and then extending the hilt to Fabian.

Fabian nodded to the other. "Come at me with that polearm."

"Sir?" The man questioned. Fabian waved impatiently at the guard as Marcus took a step behind the guards.

The man took a half-hearted thrust at Fabian who slapped it away with the flat of the borrowed short sword. It was a heavy, but serviceable weapon. "What are you? A gelding? Are they recruiting castrati into the castle guard to protect the prisoners from amorous advances? Or are you a woman in disguise?"

The guard gritted his teeth beneath his iron helmet, and thrust again, this time committing himself to the action. Fabian danced to the side, not even bothering to block with his sword. Instead, he came around with his sword at the back of the guard's neck. The chainmail coif around his head would perhaps have protected him from the edge of the blade, but Fabian brought the pommel into the guard's helmet with a resounding gong. The guard reeled and collapsed headlong, still traveling with the force of his thrust.

Fabian kept moving, bringing a dart from the earlier trip into the Treasury around from his belt and jamming it into the other polearm carrying guard's neck. The man blinked in surprise as the sleeping draught swept through his system, and he collapsed. The escort gulped and reached for his own sword, but Marcus' giggle and a glance at the head-sized mageflame ball the magus called up completely unmanned him.

He collapsed to his knees in the middle of the corridor sobbing and begging for his life. There was a sudden odor of urine. Fabian considered him for a moment. Dungeon guards in the Emperor's service did not act like scared children. Something was wrong. And then he remembered the ring he'd shown. This guard had reacted almost violently to its presence. Fabian shook his head. This guard had seen something associated with the rings that he did not want to see again.

"Well, I have to say that the security measures you've taken here have been completely inadequate. You've allowed two dangerous men to enter the dungeons almost unchallenged and the only armed response to them was at their invitation." He nodded at Marcus, and the mageflame condensed until it was no bigger than a child's plaything.

"Well, I could let the magus have you for… practice." The guard's eyes widened. And that's when Marcus moved forward and pressed the now-purple mageflame into the guard's weeping face. Purple flames engulfed the guard, and he screamed once – before collapsing. The instant he hit the ground, the flames extinguished.

Marcus' giggle became a cackle of glee. "Oh! Oh, Fabian, did you see the look on his face?! HA, ha ha haaaa…"

Fabian's borrowed short sword was up in a flash. Marcus glanced at it and brayed again. "Oh, Fabian. You… you think I killed him! HA ha haaaaa…" He kicked the guard over with a grunt. The guard's skin was unblemished, and Fabian could see his chest rise and fall.

"What? How? That was mageflame!"

"Oh, Fabian. All magic is flame. Everything is flame. Everyone is flame. It's all flame."

Fabian shook his head, and searched the guards for keys.

#

Alexander and Ragnar were manacled to opposite walls, hooded and gagged. Marcus and Fabian quickly had the hoods and gags off, but Fabian was not prepared for Alexander's glare.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"Saving your life, naturally."

"My life is not in danger. When the Emperor hears of this he'll-"

"He'll what?" Fabian shouted at him. "You think Auron told him that we would be attempting to enter the treasury? You think he'll take your word – the word of a soldier known for unconventional tactics, for harrying supply lines, for unorthodox thinking and approaches? Or the word of the Chancellor he's had at his side since he assumed the throne and has probably been whispering in his ear all along to be cautious of claims of treachery from within? What do you think you are doing?"

"The Emperor must know of Auron's activities. And it's my duty to make sure he does know."

Fabian paused, and the warmth he'd felt earlier crystallized a suspicion he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "You're right, Alexander. The Emperor must know of Auron's activities. Who's to say that he didn't give the order to have you discredited and executed in the first place?"

Alexander froze, allowing Fabian a chance to release him. "What?"

"Think. We've been out of the capital for a while now, doing jobs that no one thought could be done. They sent us to cripple Dacia's supply lines, and we did it. Just the four of us. We stopped an invasion force at Feltria using an approach that had never been tried before – misting oil over the invaders then lighting it with mageflame. We did that. It was your planning, your ideas, your talents that have seen us through again and again. And now there is talk that you've been touched by the gods – by TK Alba herself. What could possibly stand in your way? What would prevent you from taking the throne itself if you wanted it? You're a threat. And threats to power are meant to be eliminated."

"I am no threat. I am loyal to the Empire, and I will do my duty."

"Who knows? That may be part of the problem. Your loyalty is to the Empire – not to the Emperor himself." Fabian replied.

Marcus tittered. "You are touched by the gods. We all are. Our flames are changing with their touch."

Alexander shook his head. "But…" He paused, then, listening to a whisper that only he could hear.

"We'll be wanted men. Hounded to the borders of the Empire."

Ragnar grunted at that. "We're already wanted men. Let's be wanted and unavailable." He rubbed his wrists where the manacles had rubbed the skin red. "Of course, we'll have to get out first."

Alexander nodded, and glanced at the unconscious guards. "I have a thought or two about that."

#

Within moments one of the guards had been relieved of his uniform. Alexander shrugged into it. "I'm going to rely on you to do a lot of the talking, Fabian. The instant I open my mouth they'll realize that I'm not the guard you came in with. I only hope enough of my face is covered to keep them from jumping us on the way out."

Fabian nodded, then reached into his wrist pouch and removed the black ring. Carefully, he set it in the center of the cell. "There's my reply to Auron. I think he'll get the message."

They moved back up the corridor, placing loose manacles around Ragnar's thick wrists, but not locking them. "Here's a prisoner being taken to Chancellor Auron, and his two faithful servants and a guard. What could be more natural?" Alexander asked.

Indeed, it was good enough to get them through the first door without so much as a raised eyebrow.

"That was easy." Ragnar whispered.

"Don't jinx us, Ragnar." Fabian whispered back.

Just then three guards and a man in a wide brimmed black hat and cloak came around the corner. The black hatted man glanced at them and drew his sword. "Escape! It's an escape! Take them all!" Then he charged, and his sword seemed somehow to dim as he did.

The four of them exploded into action. Ragnar cast his manacles in the face of the charging man. The man in the hat ducked while Fabian and Alexander moved to subdue the guards who were still trying to ascertain exactly what was occurring. Their hesitation was unfortunate, and within moments the three of them were unarmed and being held at bay by Fabian's short swords.

Ragnar was having more trouble with the man in black than he should have. He was holding the man's wrists in an effort to hold back the shadowy blade. Though the large barbarian's muscles were visibly straining against the efforts of the much smaller man, the sword was coming closer and closer to the barbarian's exposed neck.

Marcus summoned a ball of mageflame and thrust it at the man's head from behind – and Fabian saw the purple flame engulf both Ragnar and the hatted man. Ragnar collapsed, but the flame flowed over and around the man with the hat toward the shadowy sword until it had swallowed the flame. The man turned, a leer of glee on his face.

That's when Fabian threw a shortsword at the man in the hat. The pommel caught him in the face and he went down like a puppet with cut strings.

Alexander glanced over at Fabian. "You didn't kill him. Thank you."

Fabian shook his head. "I was trying to take his grinning head off. Lucky bastard."

He and Marcus grabbed Ragnar by the arms and Alexander led them back up the passage. They exited the dungeon without further incident, pausing only once for Marcus to reach out with a flaming hand and send the final guard to sleep.

"Where to now?" Marcus asked. "Turn and turn and turn again? To the palace?"

"I know a place." Fabian responded. Years of living on the streets were about to be very advantageous.

#

Chancellor Auron considered the ring laying on the table in the chambers he worked in. Marcellus had presented him with the ring, and the news of Alexander's escape. Marcellus lay twitching on the ground now, his wide-brimmed hat askew, face smashed by a sword pommel. The rings had their uses, both in amplifying the abilities of their holders, and in applying the appropriate motivation for better performance in the future.

He rubbed the temples of his head, affecting disappointment in Marcellus apparent failure. Things couldn't have worked out better. The whispers in the Emperor's name of a threat to his authority had been effective in making him suspicious of Alexander. Alexander! There was never a more faithful lapdog than that accursed godsworn.

Then the attempt to enter the Treasury, cementing the thought that Alexander was a threat. The word in the right place to Fabian. Of course they would escape. Auron hadn't dared lighten the guard or disable a single countermeasure lest they suspect, but they'd escaped regardless.

Auron now had a free hand to work in the Empire. Anything he did to undermine the authority of the Emperor could be explained as the work of Alexander and his cohorts. With the pressure of the Dacians from the East and the threat of insurrection within, the Emperor would grow increasingly paranoid and reactionary. It was only a matter of time before the Empire was ready for a change.

And when they were, Auron would be there.

 

And that's the first story. The photo is used under a creative commons license, and the original version is on flickr at this link.