The Hero and the Rogue

         The air shimmered and sparkled green for a moment and a tall, muscular man wearing a chain mail shirt appeared.  The armor had a hood that protected his head and opened under his arms so that could better maneuver the shield on his left arm and wield the sword sheathed in his belt.  A tabard with an eagle and crossed sword emblem, the symbol of the Brotherhood of Cleansing Light, hung over the chainmail and was held tight by a leather belt.  He looked around and nodded.  He stood in a field outside a large city from which smoke rose from many fires.  Amid the city skyline were several blank spaces where buildings had been before an assortment of pirates, goblins, and other scum had overrun the place.
         The shimmer in the air returned and the armored man took a step back and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.  A man in dark robes appeared.  “Well met, Rorick,” the new arrival said.
         Rorick’s hand rested a moment longer on his sword before he relaxed.  “Well met, Meggit.” 
         Rorick stood almost a head taller that Meggit though most of the differenece came from the fact that Rorick stood straight while Meggit was slightly hunched.  Meggit’s extremely pale complexion and thin limbs combined with his poor posture to give him a sickly appearance.  He belonged to the Order of Dusk, a group of wizards who were not inherently evil in the same way that rats are not inherently dirty.  The Brotherhood and the Order resented each other but both had bigger problems, like the ones that had wiped out the formerly prosperous city of Laclede that now smoldered next to them, and so the two factions maintained an awkward peace.
         Meggit looked over the city.  From where they stood he could sea the bay, now filled with the tall masts of sailing ships.  “When I was here last the water was full of merchants.”
         “Are you very familiar with the city?” Rorick asked
         “No, he just passed through,” a third man said from behind Rorick.
         Rorick spun around and drew his sword in one fluid motion.  When he saw who had spoken he sheathed his sword and said “Ressinger,” as though the name was a curse.
         Ressinger wore drab peasant clothes and a cloak that looked like it had been made of an old blanket.  A quiver with about a dozen arrows rested diagonally across his back and he held a short bow in his left hand.  He was as tall as Rorick but thinner with gangly limbs.  “Well met, my lords.  I did not mean to startle you.  I was just charting our course into the city.”
         “Has the Guild figured out what we are after?” Rorick asked.
         “No,” Ressinger replied.  “Whatever it is, it’s in the academy  The pirates, the goblins, and everyone else here seem to want it badly enough to fight there while the rest of the city is free for the pillaging.  A group of very capable defenders are protecting it even though Laclede Keep is close by and much more defensible.”
         “And you have a way past those defenders?” Meggit asked.
         Ressinger’s head bobbed from side to side indecisively.  “The Guild has given me detailed information about the layout of the building, including passages that aren’t supposed to be there, passages long forgotten by those who reside there now.”
         “Why do they not move whatever they defend to the Keep?” Rorick asked.
         “I don’t have any answers,” Ressinger said.  “All we know is that it must be important and it would probably be bad if the scum ravaging the city got hold of it.”
         Rorick snorted.  “While the Guild has only the bests interests of all people at heart.”
         Ressinger shrugged.  “The Wolves served you well enough and at no cost at Courtfield.  Follow me.”  Ressinger jogged ahead.  He took a zigzag path from shadow to shadow.  In the early morning light he seemed little more than a grey blur and his companions had trouble keeping track of him.
         “Oh well,” Rorick said, mostly to himself.  “If it was anything important, the Brotherhood would know about it.”
         “What happened at Courtfield?” Meggit asked as they walked.
         “A great host from Kierg invaded Grandon a few years ago,” Rorick explained.
         “Oh, yes,” Meggitt said, nodding.  “The War of the Maiden.”
         Rorick nodded grimly.  “We were outnumbered.  The Guild sent some people they called ‘The Wolves’, twenty sturdy men and women with short bows.  They went into the forest.  Every Kiergen caught alone or in small numbers died of arrows.  Stragglers, scouts, foragers, even camp guards.  I do not know how many the Wolves killed, but they broke the morale of the Kiergen and the Kiergen lords could not keep track of our movements with all their scouts dying.  On the third day of battle our cavalry caught their flank and rolled up their army.  It was the worst slaughter I’ve ever seen.”
         Meggit nodded to Ressinger, now crouched by a smashed gate on the city wall.  “Was he among them?”
         Rorick shook his head.  “The wolves were stockier, heartier folk than he.  They killed with their bows, but also by breaking the necks of those they caught unaware.”
         When they reached the gate Ressinger motioned for them both to kneel.  “Took you long enough,” he hissed.  The gate stood ajar, its boards intact and unmarked.  Beyond the gate was a narrow lane with three story buildings on either side.
         “Why is the gate open?” Meggit whispered.
         “Because someone was paid to open it,” Ressinger said.  “Just like they were paid to open all the other gates and to keep the warning bells silent when the pirates showed up.”
         “Looks deserted in there,” Rorick said.  He looked at the buildings on either side of the lane.  “Do you think there are sentries?”
         Ressinger nodded.  “We have to assume so, else we welcome arrows in our backs.  We move fast and we move as quietly as we can.  Keep to the right hand side of the lane.  Keep that shield up.  We turn at the second alley or cross street that isn’t an obvious dead end.”
         “Why not the first?” Meggit asked.
         “Because that’s the most likely place for whoever’s in charge of this place to have their goons.  We fight if we must, but I would rather make it to the Academy and back without being noticed.  Let’s go.”
         They went through the gate and into the lane.  Broken furniture, soiled clothing, and other odds and ends littered the street and the three intruders had not gone far before they came upon the torn remains of people.  Carrion birds had already picked most of the meat.  On seeing the first body Rorick began to recite a blessing but Ressinger shushed him and they kept moving.  Every door along the lane had been battered down or burned.  Ressinger looked in each one as they passed, checking for ambush.  Rorick noticed that the guildsman did not have an arrow set in his bow.
         Ressinger signaled them to halt just before they reached the first alleyway.  The guildsman dropped to all fours and peeked around the corner.  He returned to a standing position and whispered, “Move fast and stay quiet.”
         A group of goblins and men played dice in the alley.  None looked up as the trio passed.  Ressinger led his companions to the next alley and they turned.  The stench of death hung heavy here.  Crow-picked bodies and splashes of gore on the walls told the story..
         “No weapons,” Rorick said.  “A massacre.”
         Ressinger bent over and picked up the left half of a helmet.  “There was a battle.  The winners looted the bodies, took the weapons and armor.”  He set the helmet fragment back where he had found it.
         They followed the alley until it branched.  When they came around the corner they startled a man who sat huddled in a tattered blanket.  He whimpered, but made no move to defend himself.  Ressinger and his companions moved on.  As they continued on the sounds of men shouting and of weapons striking weapons became audible.
         “We’re getting close,” Ressinger whispered.  “The Academy is next to Palace Knoll.”
         “We can help them,” Rorick said.  “We have weapons and magic we could . . . “
         Ressinger was already shaking his head.  “The city garrison had over two thousand men.  It’s very unlikely that the three of us will make a difference in the fate of the city.””
         “How are we going to get there without getting involved in the battle?” Meggit asked.
         “There’s one part of the city that the pirates have no interest in.  Don Alexander’s turf hasn’t been touched.  No one knows if he paid them off or if he’s in league with them.  Either way they’ve left his territory alone.  Our road is through there.”
         The buildings in Don Alexander’s turf were no shorter than those in the rest of the city, but they were dirtier and the smell of inadequate drainage made Rorick put his hand over his nose and mouth.  Ressinger quietly but firmly told him to put his hand down and to act like they walked through the place ever day.  Meggit chortled.  Two men, one large and carrying a spiked club and one small with a narrow sword on his hip, stepped out from a doorway to bar the path.  Ressinger produced a badge from the folds of his cloak and the two men stepped aside.
         “Guild membership opens a lot of doors,” Ressinger explained as they continued into the slums.
         A few people hurried about on errands, but the streets were mostly deserted save for the rough looking men who kept watch.  The Don’s territory ended abruptly in a line of burned out buildings.  A hunched man in a hooded grey cloak scuttled past as Ressinger and company left the protection of the Don.  Ressinger turned and gazed after the cloaked figure, wondering what he had been doing in the more dangerous parts of the city.
         The spires of the academy poked up from the city skyline, as did a few columns of smoke.  Palace Knoll, the wealthiest district in the city, rose up next to the academy.  Fires raged unchecked through many of the mansions near the base of the hill and barricades of horse carts, furniture, and rubbish blocked the streets further up.  Sounds of battle echoed from every direction.
         Meggit and Rorick rounded a corner and stopped abruptly.  A group of at least a score of armed goblins were walking toward them.  More distressing was the ten foot tall ogre in the midst of the group.  Rorick and Meggit looked at each other, then at Ressinger, or at where Ressinger had been.
         “Bastard,” Rorick muttered as he drew his sword and raised his shield.  Meggit extended his arm and pointed at the ogre.  The wizard spoke a string of syllables in a tongue that sounded like a mix of insect clicks and bear grunts.  A line of grayish purple energy shot from Meggit’s hand.
         The ogre grabbed a goblin by the arm and hoisted him into the path of the spell.  The goblin went limp and dropped his club when the energy hit him.  The ogre cocked his arm and tossed his impromptu shield.  Rorick dodged out of the way and Meggit lifted his hand in an arc.  A barrier like a thin slice of mist appeared where his hand had been.  The dead goblin blew through it and knocked Meggit off his feet.
         Rorick cursed the odds, and the fact that his armor was too heavy for him to try to run.  The ogre grunted and his hairless eyebrows furrowed in a confused expression.  He looked back over his shoulder and down between his legs, like a dog trying to find its tail.  A arrow protruded from the back of the ogre’s thigh and a thick trail of blood ran down his leg and had started to pool around his bare foot.  The ogre’s club fell from his hands and he stared at the weapon with a bewildered expression before his legs gave out from the loss of blood.
         One of the goblins next to the ogre collapsed, an arrow lodged between his shoulder blades.  Several goblins turned toward the new threat, one of them just in time to take an arrow in the chest.  Ressinger stood by the corner, his bow in hand.  A goblin with a spiked club charged.  Ressinger’s hand darted into the folds of his cloak and back out as he sidestepped and dropped to one knee.  He rammed a dagger into the charging goblin’s thigh.  The goblin lost his balance and fell face first on the hard cobbles.
         Ressinger tossed his bow aside and drew two more daggers as the other goblins charged him.  One of the charging goblins felt an impact like a punch in his gut.  He looked down and saw a dagger handle sticking out of his stomach.
         Rorick charged at the nearest goblin.  The goblin swung his sword but it glanced harmlessly off Rorick’s shield while Rorick’s blade struck hard on the goblin’s shoulder, opening it to the bone.  Another goblin rushed and leapt up to drive its spear in over the top of his shield.  Rorick raised the shield and it stopped the goblin’s spear, then its head.
         Meggit slowly rose and decided that he would have to learn to make stronger wards.  His magic could stop arrows and sword strokes, but flying goblins were too much.  He drew a wand of strangely warped grey wood and surveyed the battle.  Rorick fought mechanically, going through the motions of battle as a dancer goes through a routine.  Some of the goblins died before they hit the ground while others fell away and rose again sporting garish wounds.  Ressinger wove around and among the goblins, a dagger in each hand.  He sometimes threw one dagger or the other, invariably striking a goblin stomach or throat, before drawing another dagger.  The rest of the time he stabbed or slashed but no matter his method of attack the wound he left was always mortal.
         Meggit cursed as he looked for a clean shot.  The combatants moved too erratically and the efforts of Ressinger and Rorick provided the wizard with fewer and fewer targets.  After a few minutes the remaining goblins fled and Rorick and Ressinger stood panting amid the carnage.
         “Looks like I got more kills,” Rorick said after he had caught his breath.  “Eight goblins to your six.”
         Ressinger shrugged and began retrieving those daggers that were stuck in dead or dying goblins.  “I brought you for your talents.”
         “And only one for the Order of Dusk,” Rorick gloated.
         The marching of many booted feet echoed from around the corner.  Rorick started to ask Ressinger a question, but the guildsman had disappeared again.  Meggit walked over to the fallen ogre and chanted a few verses of his strange, magical language over the corpse.  The ogre stood and picked up its club.
         A group of well armed men rounded the corner.  They all wore the green scarves of Elsid Company, a band of cutthroat mercenaries.  The undead ogre charged into them, club swinging wildly.
         “Nicely done,” Ressinger said as he emerged from a doorway.  “Let’s move on.”
         “Don’t you want to see who wins?” Meggit asked.
         “No,” Ressinger and Rorick both replied firmly.
         Rorick marched boldly, but Meggit chewed his lip and his eyes darted about frantically.  “What is it?” Ressinger asked as they walked.
         “You could have gotten away from that without the fight,” Meggit said.  “What do you need us for?”
         “Your talents have their uses,” Ressinger replied.  He led them around a corner.  The narrow street dead ended into a broad lane that went around several large buildings.  The lane was empty save for some bones, torn clothes, and other debris, but the sounds of battle echoed from somewhere nearby.  “The Academy,” Ressinger said.  He turned back to his companions.  “This is the part of the Academy that is the least accessible  The windows are small and the walls are thick.  The main assault has focused on the grand entrance.  But be cautious.  There are bound to be archers, maybe even wizards keeping a lookout.”
         Rorick led the way, his shield held high.  An arrow flew at them from the upper stories of one of the Academy buildings but missed badly.  They reached the wall and hugged it closely as they moved around a building.  All three looked up at the windows of the neighboring buildings but no assault came.
         “Where are the doors?” Rorick asked.
         “There are none,” Meggit replied.  “The Academy teaches magic.  The senior students have no need of doors.”
         “Can you get us in?” Rorick asked.
         “There are wards to keep us out,” Ressinger explained.  He paused at a slight depression in the wall.  “But the Guild had a hand in the building of this place.”  He pushed on one of the stones and it slid inward.  Something clicked.  Ressinger put a shoulder to the wall and a section of stone slowly gave, just enough for one man to sidle through.  Meggit followed and Rorick went last, pushing the door shut after he had entered.  Meggit pulled a glowing blue orb from a pocket in his robes.  They were in a corridor without decoration.  A hallway branched off ahead.
         “We’re in the cellar of a warehouse building,” Ressinger explained as they walked.  “The fighting is at the other end of the campus, so we should be safe.”
         They turned into the hallway and Meggit’s orb illuminated the grinning faces of a group of barefoot men armed with short, curved swords.  “’Ello, mates,” one of the pirates said.  “I thought we was clever to find that passageway.  Guess everyone knows about it.”
         “That one has armor,” another said doubtfully, pointing to Rorick.
         “Got just the thing,” a third pirates said.  He drew a misericorde, a slender dagger made to find its way between the gaps in  armor.
         “We doused our torch when we ‘eard you come in,” the one who had spoken first said.  That light’ll do nicely for us.  ‘And it over!”  He advanced on Meggit, sword waving.
         Meggit made a few clicking sounds followed by a hiss.  A wave of something like grey mist wafted from his free hand into the pirate’s face.  The pirate’s eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed face first onto the stone floor.  The rest of the pirates charged, but Meggit’s orb went from dim to blinding.  As his cursing enemies (and allies) stumbled about, Meggit pulled the grey wand from his belt and spoke more magic words.  The air in front of him went pitch black.  Screams echoed out as Ressinger and Rorick tried to peer in.  When the screams ended Meggit waived the wand and the light returned.  Faces and torsos and arms and feet all tangled together like the creation of child using pieces of many bodies to make something other than a human body.
         “What,” Rorick said, his voice quavering, “did you do?”
         “Where’s the blood?” Ressinger asked, his tone betraying nothing more than simple curiosity.
         “I summoned help,” Meggit replied.  “The blood is their price.”
         Ressinger nodded approvingly.  “Good arrangement.  Also less messy than I would have expected.  Let’s move on.”
         Ressinger led them through a series of undecorated corridors.  Heavy wooden doors opened off the corridors at irregular intervals, but Ressinger ignored these until he came to one exactly like all the others.  He knelt and pulled a steel ring from on of the folds in his clothing.  Half a dozen miniature tools hung from the ring and he inserted a hooked tool into the lock and fiddled with a for a moment.  Something clicked.
         The door opened to reveal and unremarkable chamber with a discarded suit of armor sitting in a heap next to the only other door.  Meggit started to walk forward but Ressinger barred him with an outstretched arm.  “Wait,” Ressinger said.
         The suit of armor rattled, then it stood up.  Overlapping plates of steel formed something man shaped that moved haltingly and held a sword in each hand.  The thing had shiny spots in its helmet which, perhaps, served as its eyes though it had no nose or mouth.
         “A construct?” Meggit asked.
         “Iron,” Ressinger confirmed.  “Not a bit of flesh for me to sink an arrow or a dagger into.
         Meggit shrugged and pointed his index finger at the metal man.  After a moment a bolt of yellow energy shot out and exploded a few feet from it.  “Warded against magical attacks,” Ressinger explained.
         “How do I kill it?” Rorick asked as he drew his sword.  “Does it have a heart in there somewhere?”
         Ressinger shook his head.  “It’s not alive.  It’s what you get when wizards and clockmakers work together.  Just break its arms so we can get by.”
         Rorick advanced in a rush.  The construct swung its left hand sword and Rorick dodge around the blow and struck.  The construct’s arm cracked under the force of the blow but that did not stop its left hand sword from catching Rorick’s shield hard on the back swing nor its right hand sword from following up with another devastating shield blow.
         “What do we do if he loses?” Meggit asked.
         “Find a pub,” Ressinger replied.
         Rorick recovered after a few staggering steps and ducked another swing by the construct.  Rorick swung, but the construct blocked and swung again.  Rorick sidestepped again and landed another blow on the construct’s left arm.  This time a large chunk of armor fell away and several metal gears about the size of coins fell out.  The arm fell limp at the construct’s side.  Its other sword worked in a figure eight as it advanced on Rorick.  He timed the construct’s movements and darted in with a sword stroke that glanced of the remaining arm.  The construct swung and Rorick ducked under it to come up behind the metal monster.  He swung straight down on the top of the construct’s shoulder.  A series of metallic bangs and clangs followed before that arm fell limp.
         “Nicely done,” Ressinger said.
         Rorick panted his acknowledgement, but did find the breath to say, “I’ll never get the edge back on my sword.”
         “You are being well compensated,” Ressinger replied as he picked the next lock.  “I’m sure the Guild will also replace your weapon when I report on how useful you’ve been.” 
         The door opened and Ressinger led them into another room much like the first.  No obstacles immediately presented themselves.  “Wait for it,” Ressinger said.  A dark blue mist formed in front of the next door.  The mist gradually condensed into the form of a warrior armed with a sword and shield.
         “I’ll handle this,” Rorick said confidently.
         Ressinger pulled a copper coin from one of his pockets and threw it.  The coin passed through the mist warrior and clattered against the far wall.
         “Shadowform,” Meggit said.  “Very rare.  It takes a skilled and powerful wizard to make one.”
         “What does it do?” Rorick asked.
         “That sword will pass through your sword, your shield, and your armor like they aren’t even there,” Meggit replied.  “But it will open your skin up as surely as steel.  And, as our guide just demonstrated, physical weapons will have no effect.  Hold this please.”  Meggit handed his glowing orb to Ressinger and stepped forward.
         The shadowform charged, its sword high, its mouth open in a silent scream.  Meggit raised his hand and a shimmering barrier appeared between him and the shadowform.  Meggit began to chant while the shadowform struck the barrier with its sword.  The first blow did nothing.  The second bowed the barrier in toward the wizard.  On the third stroke the magical barrier disappeared with a pop. Meggit extended both hands, palms out as if to shove something.  A gust of wind rippled the shadowform and sent it staggering backward.  It raised its shield, which did not ripple as the weird thing’s body did.  The wind continued, but the shadowform stopped moving, became solid, and began to trudge forward.
         Meggit took a step back and began a different chant.  He held his hands out to either side.  In his right a ball of orange fire appeared, suspended slightly above his palm.  The ambient moisture of the air began to condense and freeze just above the palm of his left hand.  As the shadowform neared, Meggit released both the hot and the cold.  The two elements passed through the shadowform’s body on opposite sides of its abdomen with no apparent effect.  When they met the shadowform screamed, really screamed like a man doused in scalding water.
         “I wasn’t sure that would work,” Meggit said as the shadowform dissipated.
         “Never doubted you,” Ressinger replied as he set about retrieving his coin and picking the next lock.
         “You know a lot about the security for someone who does not know the contents,” Rorick observed.
         “The Guild was able to obtain documents about this place,” Ressinger replied.  “The wards and layout were explained.  All sections on the contents were missing.”
         The door swung open and they entered another chamber.  The smell of something dead hit Ressinger and Rorick like a blow.  Meggit sniffed, but remained calm otherwise.  A corpse in a blue robe lay on the carpeted floor of an apartment that included a bed, well stocked book shelves, writing desk, large open drain, and a dumbwaiter in which sat a tray of rotting food.  A blue oval object about the size of a melon sat in an alcove in the far wall.  It had fine silver worked in over its smooth surface to give the impression of stylized waves.
         “This man’s been dead for some time,” Meggit said.  He pulled an ivory wand out of his cloak and waved it over the body.  “Poison.  Slow acting.  It muddled his thoughts for some time before he died.”
         “Long enough for him to stop using this,” Ressinger said as he slowly approached the blue object.”
         “What is it?” Rorick asked.
         Ressinger picked up the oval from its place in the wall and rolled it around in his hands for  a few moments before answering.  “This is Poseidon’s Locket.”
         “The stone that controls the sea?” Meggit asked.
         Ressinger nodded.  “I spent some time studying maritime legends before we set out.  I figured the object contained here would be something to with currents or weather.  Whoever opens this can control the currents.  He could make the port invincible.”
         “Why did they keep it here?” Rorick asked.  “Why not use it to hunt pirates or sink enemy fleets?”
         “Because here it was safe,” Ressinger replied.  “Here they could use it to make sure that their city was never invaded.  They kept it hidden, only seen by one man, its caretaker.  He used it to protect the city until poison robbed him of his wits.  This is what they’re all after.  The defenders didn’t move it because they were focused on fighting the pirates, I suppose, and they probably didn’t want to risk casualties retrieving the stone.”  Ressinger nodded and looked around, like a man waking up from a dream.  “My lords, the Guild will reward you both handsomely for this.  You have helped recover an item of immense value.”
         Rorick’s shield struck Meggit with bone crushing force.  Meggit collapsed as Rorick drew his sword.  “I am afraid I cannot let you keep that, guildsman.”
         Ressinger sighed.  He set the stone on the ground.  “Doesn’t this violate your honor, knight of the Brotherhood of Cleansing Light?”
         Rorick took a step forward, keeping his sword level with Ressinger’s chest.  “The Guild would use this to encourage trade, even with the likes of the Order of Dusk and the Kiergen.  I cannot allow that.”
         “And I can’t allow the Brotherhood to stifle trade,” Ressinger replied.  “You know the Guild will use it to end piracy, kill sea monsters . . .”
         “And facilitate trade with the enemies of the Brotherhood.”
         Ressinger conceded the point with a nod and drew a dagger with his right hand.  He dropped his bow and stepped between Rorick and the stone.
         “You must be joking,” Rorick said dryly.
         Ressinger shook his head and set his quiver down next to the bow.  Rorick advanced with a stab which Ressinger sidestepped.  The dagger skidded harmlessly down the chainmail on Rorick’s upper arm.  Ressinger backpedaled out of the reach of Rorick’s next swing.  “Come on,” Rorick jeered.  “At least draw another dagger.”
         Ressinger adjusted his grip on the dagger and took a wide stance, leaning forward slightly.  Rorick smirked and charged in with an overhand swing.  Ressinger sidestepped to Rorick’s right, but the knight had anticipated the move and his sword followed the guildsman.  Ressinger punched out with his left hand.  The sword stroke caught Ressinger across the chest and sent him sprawling to the floor.  His dagger clattered away as Rorick advanced.
         The sword fell from Rorick’s hand and he reached up to the gap in his mail under his armpit, to the dagger stuck there.  The shield hit the ground a moment later.  Ressinger rose slowly, clutching his chest.  “You should have sharpened your sword, Rorick.  That really hurt but it’s just a bruise.”
         Rorick bared his teeth but did not otherwise respond.  Ressinger grabbed the dagger handle and pulled.  A blade no wider than a knitting needle and about as long emerged.  Rorick smiled and said, “Misericorde,” before he collapsed.
         “Get up, Meggit,” Ressinger said without looking at the wizard.
         Meggit stood and wiped the blood from his nose.  “Nicely done.  I was sure Rorick would win.  Of course I was going to kill him when he did.”
         Ressinger wiped the misericorde on Rorick’s tabard and sheathed it.  “And now?”
         “And now we get back to the Guild,” Meggit said as he picked up Ressinger’s dropped dagger and handed it over, handle first.  “I don’t want the Hounds, or whatever they’re called, after me and I don’t want men like you haunting my shadow.”  Meggit smiled and dabbed at the blood around his mouth with his sleeve.  “Besides, having friends in the Guild is something few can claim, something far more valuable than that bauble.”
         Ressinger sheathed the dagger and collected his bow and arrows.  “I’m glad you think so.”  Ressinger  put the Locket under his cloak and it, like everything else, seemed to disappear there.  He put his arm around Meggit’s narrow shoulders and guided the wizard out of the room.  “So, the Guild will be setting out to eliminate piracy.  Might the Order be interested in providing some magical aid?”