XII
"Well," said the thief, standing up and giving his
cloak a small flourish. "Isn’t anyone going to ask me what I’m doing here?"
"He gets bored when he’s not the centre of attention,"
said the barbarian.
Sir Garath nodded his head in the thief’s direction. "Speak, then, if you’re so
inclined. I for one would like to know
what you bring to this expedition. You look more at home in a ballroom than a
battlefield."
"I thank you for the compliment," said the thief
with a smile. "And you are correct:
I am no warrior. There are, however, necessary skills that require more finesse
than banging someone on the head with a stick.
I am an expert lockpick, a master of stealth, and incredibly charming
and handsome. You won’t find me a
burden, I assure you."
"At the very least he can carry some supplies,"
ventured the barbarian.
"That's all very well," said the knight. "But
I would know your name, and your reason for coming here."
"My name is Artis," said the thief. "And, quite simply, I seek wealth."
"There are far less dangerous ways to obtain that,"
said the knight.
"I would happily brave a few days of hell for a lifetime
of heaven," said Artis. "Wouldn’t
you?"
XIII
Jonn raised his shield, and the thigh-bone that was aimed at
his head splintered. The creature kept
coming at him, and Jonn lashed out wildly with his sword. He had been in battle before, but this was
different. Then he had been shoulder to
shoulder with his fellows, arrayed in formation with firm ground underfoot and
a bright blue sky overhead. It had been
terrifying, but at least then he had been able to feel something. Here, in the whirling chaos, battling by a
light that flickered this way and that, against things more beast than man, he
had no time to feel at all. He just
struck and chopped at everything that moved.
The beast-man grabbed his shield and wrenched it aside,
blasting Jonn’s face with a gust of rancid breath. Jonn brought his sword down and cut off the
thing’s arm at the shoulder, then lashed out again, smashing its face to a bony
pulp. He whirled around, barely even
having time to breathe. Saskar was on
top of another wounded beast-man nearby, working slowly with his knife. Across the room Myrio and the barbarian were fighting
side-by-side, him wreaking havoc with his axe, and her weaving around the enemy
like a dancer. Near the platform and the
bowl, Sir Garath was beset by three of the creatures; he was holding his own,
but one of them landed a blow on his shoulder, and he was only saved by his
thick plate armour. The priest darted
from behind, giving what aid he could with his staff, but it was obvious that
he was no fighter. Jonn dashed towards
them, leaping up onto the platform.
As he was running past he saw a figure crouched near the
bowl, and he lashed out at it with his sword.
The figure raised its hands as it stumbled back, and Jonn pulled his
blow at the last second. It was the
thief.
"What are you doing?" said Jonn. "We need to help Sir Garath."
"You go," said Artis, pushing himself back up to
kneel by the side of the bowl. "I’m
no fighter."
"Then get back to the tunnel with the others, you’re no
use here," said Jonn.
Artis ignored him and thrust his hand into the bowl, rummaging
through the skulls. Jonn hesitated. Sir Garath was being forced back, and now
there were four of the beast-men against him and the priest. More were emerging from the tunnels near
Saskar, who was felling them with arrows as they entered the chamber. Jonn wanted to go to Sir Garath's aid, but if
he did, Artis would be left defenceless.
He was still caught in two minds when the thief suddenly drew forth two
gold coins from the bowl in triumph.
"Fine then," said Jonn. "You can die here if you really want to." He leaped down from the platform to Sir
Garath’s side, thrusting his sword through the chest of a beast-man.
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