Dozens of siege engines lay across the battlefield, with motes of billowing smoke drifting up from the partially rubbled city in the background.

There had been delays in building the engines, with the uncontrolled quakes causing almost as many issues for their army as they had for the enemies. But now the dwarves stood ready.

Gorhash Fourharn sat on his mobile throne, brought up from the underground by his slaves immortal – a sect bred into service of the great dwarf king.

He sat, waiting for the report now. Long, flowing white hair cascaded from his head and jaw, knotted and tied. His face was hard, bent into a permanent scowl, and his mouth filled with golden teeth.

The Slave King, as he was known, was one of fourteen great lords of the Scarworld, and this realm was what he had been promised for his involvement.

A dozen dwarves entered through a cloth veil, dressed in fully enclosed plate armor. They bowed and waited.

“Rise,” the king rasped, his hand gesturing up as he spoke.

The dwarves rose and one at the center stepped forward.

“My King, enslaver of the world and pestilence to mankind.” He bowed again. “The city walls lay in ruins. But their garrison remains stubborn, raining down arrows whenever we push the attack. From the Clain side, we fare worse. The walls and gates stand taller, and our men are equipped poorly. A breakthrough will likely be reliant on our actions here.”

“And the revengers and heretics? Do their magics not aid you?”

“The city holds many priests, clerics, and paladins to counter them. But they wear. I doubt they can resist for much longer.”

“Let's hope you’re right, Warmaster. I intend to march on Ome before any of those opportunists, the lesser lords and their scourge, manage to scrape their way across the Clain. Your failure would be an embarrassment, understand?”

“Yes, King of Slaves.” The Warmaster bowed, kissing the dirt of the floorless tent.

“My King,” coughed another from the group.

“Oh, foul slave of serpents, what is it you have to add?”

Straightening, the dwarf rose to his feet. Unlike the others, clad in heavy armor, he wore shabby robes and lisped as his unusually long tongue slapped at his lips. “If we were to be given an adequate link to the channel, a great curse could be cast upon the defenders. It would require much magical potential, but the rewards would be well worth it, Slave King.”

“Joragis,” the king said, turning to the armored dwarf at his side. “What do you say, should we let the snake play with our prey?”

“I’m never too fond of trusting the promises of serpents. However, a great many blessings have been bestowed upon our enemies. It may be necessary to counter them with curses, lest we falter here.”

“And what of something for the serpents to channel?”

“Leave that to me, my king. The treasury is abundant with gifts from our lessors, I’m sure I’ll be able to find something for the witch doctor.”

“So be it,” Gorhash waved. “However, know that I shall expect results. Caedstad shall not stand in my way.”

***

Fane's fingers tapped against his hardwood table. Waiting for word from Olat and Morhan had become excruciating. He was no closer to getting his guild charter signed, and things had gotten bad, really bad.

On the other hand, he was quickly becoming one of the richest men still in the city. Both sides of Caedstad had been put under siege, and as far as he could tell, he was the only person who had a route in and out of the city.

Supplies, blindfolded nobles fleeing for their lives, and everything else you could think of had started to travel along Fane’s little underground passage. Which also brought him attention.

“Are you going to reply to the Duke’s invitation?” Asked Mika from his doorway.

Fane thought a moment before replying. “Take this to him, with a bottle of the best brandy you can find. Make sure it is implied that we have no issues retrieving resources from beyond the walls.” Fane pushed a folded envelope across his table, catching Mika’s eyes as he went to retrieve it. “Oh, and Mika.”

“Yes, Master Fane?”

“It is important that you come across confident. If the Duke were to grow too bold, he may decide to seize our assets for himself. We have to persuade him that working with us is better than the risk of going against us. Luckily, he has too much on his plate as it is. A dwarven army is nothing to scuff at, and he likely doesn’t want to invite any further headaches. We must use this to our advantage.”

Mika nodded. “I understand.”

“Do you? Because I wouldn’t, at least not at your age.”

“I ah-“

Fane raised a finger. “We’re all learning, myself included. It is best you do not go assuming you understand any of this. My warning is meant to keep you on your toes. Remind you we are playing a game of wits. The Duke might just be the easiest adversary we have in all of this.” Fane turned to the window at his side. “Remember, he needs allies as much as we do. We present ourselves as strong problem solvers, and he will have no reason to want us gone. He might even want to work with us.”

“I see,” Mika nodded. “Then is it wise for me to go alone?”

“It is not just wise, it is absolutely necessary. I control an organization here, or at least I claim to. What value do I have if I need to solve all my problems myself? The value of one man, that’s what. No, that isn’t enough. The Duke must believe I control a powerful network. Without that, he will see me as nothing, and undermind me the first opportunity he has. If all my strength comes from knowing a simple passage, what value do I really possess? But if my value comes from controlling a powerful syndicate that knows how to get things done? Well, then I am of immense value to him.”

“Yes, I understand, Master Fane.”

“Good,” Fane nodded, his eyes drifting back down to the envelope.

Mika hopped on the spot and bowed. “I’ll see to it,” he hastily added as he whipped up the envelope and exited the room.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“You put too much trust in that boy,” came a feminine voice from across the room. “I joined up with you because I like your vision, but these amateurs.” She shook her head.

Fane pushed off against his table and rose to his feet. “I get it, Lusandra,” Fane said as he strolled across to the wide-shouldered woman who stood a good six feet tall. “But you’re wrong about Mika. He’s got just the right mix of boyish foolishness and eagerness to please. The Duke will see through it of course. How could he not? But I’ve come to realize that we can’t win by playing the same game as the Mayor and Bailiff.”

“Oh? Are you folding out on me, Fane? I was led to believe this would be a partnership.”

“It is, Lusandra,” Fane said as he sat down upon a crouch beside the three-seater lounge Lusandra had spread her muscular frame across. “We must lure those snakes from their holes. Neither the Mayor nor the Bailiff will let us gain a footing here, they have made that much clear. When I offer to ferry the Duke’s envoy through my underground passages, they will surely hatch a plan to secure it for themselves. And that is when we shall strike. I had wanted to avoid bloodshed since we’ll need every sword we can muster to save the city, but their refusal to work with me has left little other options.”

“And so, if you kill the Duke’s right and left-hand man, why would he want to work with you?”

“He won’t have any choice. Not if he wants to save his city, I’ll make that abundantly clear. We control the only passage to and from the city, now we just need to make sure that those who rule the city, believe we rule the shadows.”

“With your handful of thugs?” Lusandra chuckled.

“These noble types, they don’t understand the streets. Not like you or I do. What happens outside of their purview may as well happen on another plane of existence.”

“I’m not sure if I should be worried or excited about your confidence, Fane. But if it puts an end to those dickless knights treating me like just another adventurer, then you'll have earnt my trust.”

***

“So?” Johan said as he brought a glass of wine to his lips whilst lounging in the bright sunroom that looked out across the Temple District. “Tell me you have plans for this upstart, Droger.”

Droger’s leathery skin bent into a harsh smile as he looked across at the thin, narrow-faced, and middle-aged man. “I do.”

“So then, out with it!” Johan whined and rolled his eyes.

“I could have him cut down in the streets, but since the Duke is already aware of his passage through the sewers, it would be ill-advised. However, if we are able to drag this knowledge from him, I’m confident that the Duke will look the other way. But to do that, we need to draw him out.”

“And?” Johan rolled his head.

“He will seek out direct consultation with the Duke, he has no other options.”

“Bailiff, you’re aware the Duke has already invited him to a meeting?”

Droger nodded. “Of course. And I will attend. I will make sure my men are allowed to join the next caravan out of the city, and I will have tracking spells cast upon them.”

“Tracking spells? Do you not think that even someone, even as dim-witted as this Fane fellow would take precautions against trickery as obvious as that?”

“He will.” Droger nodded. “I’m counting on it. And when he does, he will activate a counterspell that I will have placed on these men. Their organs will slowly decay, leaving behind a foul scent of mana the priests of Arks will have no difficulty following.”

“You’ll sacrifice your own men?”

The Bailiff nodded. “What good is saving the city if we are reduced to novelties?”

“You, Bailiff, if you are reduced to a novelty. This guild poses no threat to me as mayor.”

Droger nodded as he battled to suppress his scowl.

***

3 Days later.

A hazy, blue crystal glowed in one man's hand whilst the other held a dagger and a drip echoed in the distance. "Heard anything? That bastard was meant to trigger the counterspell already."

"No, do I look like a mystic?" Sneered another who peered around the moist brick walls of the sewer.

"Quiet, the both of you. We're meant to be listening for the-"

The edge of a silver dagger tip emerged from the man's chest.

"Kalick?"

"Shit!" The man peering around the corner screamed and seconds later a massive sword swung around the wall and caught him by the neck.

Surrounded, the last man shot a glance back and forth, but before he had a chance to react, a dagger drove toward him in a flurry of stabbing strikes.

"Not mad," Lusandra said, eyeing Fane's handiwork. "But they've only one group left and we still haven't found Droger."

"Aye, it's messier than I had hoped."

"We have to get at least one of them, Fane. Your people have already made it clear that Johan is not leaving his manor."

"I know, this was my plan, wasn't it?"

Lusandra eyed Fane a moment before conceding with a nod.

"You done? Because we've got to move. The caravan will be nearing the next checkpoint and we need to get there before Droger's men."

Six raggedy sellswords were led by Olat and Morhan, who escorted two blindfolded noblewomen and a nobleman. They all carried backpacks, filled with supplies for the journey, though they would carry far more on the way back.

A few carried fader crystals since their dimly glowing light didn't carry too far - whereas the glow from a torch would give your position away well in advance.

"Just up ahead," Olat said, pointing toward the red marking across the brick that signaled their last checkpoint before entering the lower sewers.

"Keep an eye out," Morhan replied, turning to glare at the disheveled sellswords they had gathered.

The streets of Caedstad had grown bare of good adventurers and sellswords, and Fane had been forced to hire anyone who was willing.

The group reached the checkpoint, did a once-over, and continued. They knew they were being followed and usually they would've fled into the surrounding tunnels, but Fane had explained the plan carefully beforehand.

The group took a right, then a left, and into the narrow passage that led to the room with the crumbled wall and down into the lower sewers. Once inside the room, they placed a fader beside the entrance to illuminate it.

"That's far enough," came a deep, gravelly voice as Droger stepped out from the tunnel behind them, followed by several others. "That street rat isn't paying you enough to die by my hand. Surrender your arms and you may leave."

The group turned to face the threat.

"Eight of you, and eight of us," Olat sneered. "Our odds are not so bad."

Droger chuckled. "Really, look around. Do you pathetic nobodies really think you're a challenge for me?" Droger gripped the saber at his side and began to slowly draw the weapon. "You've only one chance left. Surrender or die."

"Be ready, anyone willing to do that to his own men will take any advantage." Olat cautioned as he readied for battle.

A gargled croak echoed out and Droger's men glanced to their sides.

"Now!" Morhan shouted as he drew his shortsword and charged forward, followed closely by Olat and his heavy mace.

A scream sounded to Droger's left and he spun toward the sound.

Fane had cut down Droger's lookout in a surprise attack before they knew what had hit them. It hadn't been hard, these men were mostly thugs from the streets. The Bailiff had been overconfident, preferring to keep his knights out of this messy work.

"Impressive," Droger snickered as a body dropped at Fane's feet. "But you're so far below me it doesn't matter."

A high-pitched battle cry roared through the tunnel as Lusandra cut through a hapless thug, and then another.

"You're mine," she roared, pointing at Droger.

"Have a woman to do your wor-" Droger replied but was cut short as he was forced to dodge Lusandra's heavy strikes.

"Damn you, woman" Droger sneered as he skidded backward, but within seconds he had dodged another strike and regrounded his footing, returning with a flurry of his own, precise, slashing strikes.

The saber ricocheted off Lusandra's heavy, iron pauldron, then slashed across her cuirass sending her off-balance as another strike tore through the air, aimed at the join between her armor.

Fane cut through another thug after a short exchange, and Morhan, Olat, and the sellswords had already taken down two of their own and surrounded the remaining few.

Blood gushed from between Lusandra's heavy armor, but she had managed to avoid the strike well enough to save her arm.

"You can't fight in that state," Droger shouted as he drove forward, slashing at Lusandra's labored defenses.

Another slicing strike snuck through at her hip with a spray of blood.

"I'll cut you to pieces," Droger sneered as he drew blood once more, cutting just above her forearm. "Now die, warrior!"

As Droger rose his sword to cut Lusandra down, a flash of blinding, golden light emanated from the bloodied woman, followed by her two-handed longsword.

Droger dodged backward, but he was too slow and the blade cut a shallow wound across his chest.

Touching the wound that had pieced through his hardened leathers, Droger looked up at Lasundra, "Not ba-"

Two daggers pieced through the Bailiff's chest. He looked down, confused, and coughed blood, falling to his knees.

"You underestimated me, Bailiff."

Wiping blood from her face, Lusandra straightened. "All hail the new guildmaster of Caedstad."

"For however long the city stands," Fane said, pulling his daggers free.