1. The Ghaphis Job

“Curse these bloody stakeouts!”

For a team of shadow-skinned soldiers who were used to fighting evil on the battlefield, waiting on this roof of an abandoned brewery was punishment. The old building looked out over the tiny town of Ghaphis, nestled in the Argosy Forest. The acrid stink of rotting hops and barley constantly reminded them just how miserable they were. With Izzara’s blessing, this would be the night they could climb from the crumbling shingles and finish their mission.

“Aye, Inspector.” Maarko, the older drow, raised his arm and sniffed deep. “I’ve been wearing the same clothes for the past week.”

“Don’t remind us.” Thulaeth, the youngest member of the team, waved his hand over his mouth. “And put your arm down!”

“Both of you! Silence or I’ll pull your furlow.” Inspector Saffron Deguerro ordered her men with an angry glare of emerald eyes and hushed tones.

“What furlow?” Maarko said, then took the forced advice of his leader.

The sharp elbow of the man next to him, Dayne Thrush, jabbed his side. “Still your tongue, you old bastard. Boss said so.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He brought his focus back to the task at hand. He stared out at the dark forest that bordered the township with majestic mountains in the distance. What made this brewery town so unique is it situated itself on the border between the Arioford Kingdom and Grayvine Kingdom. It has always been a hotspot of smuggling goods between the two. Illegal Stormspirit liquor, Dempa shrooms, slaves, and contraband spellslingers proved popular.

However, on this cool Harvestold evening, the covert visitors perched on the dilapidated building weren’t here to stop booze-runners or skeevy drug peddlers. The product they sought were children. Specifically, Drow kids. Many surrounding shadow-elven communities had reported missing kids for weeks. That brought the attention of the Drow Affairs Guild, or D.A.G.gers. Specialized soldiers who policed the actions of their people against others.

The Drow Empire tasked these four to find the children or at the very least, the villains responsible. After several days of chasing leads and greasing the filthy palms of criminals, they’ve narrowed it down to this rural community. Ghaphis was miles from anywhere important, which made it easy to move unnoticed over the border. Despite the raucous behavior from a nearby tavern, they remained fixed on a cramped cottage across the street from the brewery they rested on.

“Inspector, tell me again why our mark would hide here, of all places?” Thulaeth dared to whisper.

Her temple pounded, first from her narrow eyes trying to adjust to the flickering torches and second from the incessant queries of her newest recruit. She rolled from her belly onto her side to address him. “Thu, my job is to know, and your job is to do what I tell you. Pay attention.” She lowered her black hood with thin gloved fingers, allowing the moonlight to shine from her emerald stare. While she was the type of leader that encouraged questions, she had her limit as well.

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

She huffed an enormous sigh. “Our target is Zigfrid Mallor, a human wizard of medium talent. Our response to dealing with him should be swift.” She turned 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 to from Grayvine to Arioford. 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’?” Thulaeth couldn’t help himself.

“Us. We’re the heat.” Dayne, the largest of the group, looked at him.

Thulaeth, showing his green-boot attitude, piped up once again. “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 towards 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, most likely slavers. We should 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. I’ll cover the front.”

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 angle and in their line of work, their sharp edge is well known throughout the realms. 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 sounds of laughter and music drift from the nearby tavern, which promised to drown out any noise that might alert the soldiers.

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 loaded with pouches containing dusts, oils, and Healixer potions. 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 on their impeccable hearing to guide them. Two dark-bladed short swords hung low on their backs and their standard issue dagger on their hips completing 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 drew eye contact with Thulaeth, who remained on overwatch. He spun to face her, 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 came from a privileged background, but could pick locks, counterfeit documents, and disarm traps. While fancying himself a ladies’ man, his arrogant disposition chased most women off. He still had 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.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Dayne and Maarko concealed themselves in a cluster of shrubbery at the rear of the cottage and waited. She motioned to them to see if more hidden soldiers lurked about. Maarko held up two fingers and gripped them with his other fist, showing a couple more guards were near them. That’s perfect, she thought. Zigfrid Mallor is complacent to only bring 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, black Ebonwood trees found in subterranean tunnels of Capranio’DuChamp. The bow seldom leaves his side. He brought the first mercenary into a polished silver ring that served as his sights. The moonlight glinted from the metal, allowing him to spot it better in darkness.

The target, an unwary and distracted soldier, wore the pitted half-plate armor that was common with mercenaries strapped over his body. Scavenged pieces of rusted and dented metal, still stained with crusted blood, proved too large 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 and twisted the plates on his arm.

“You’re going to get us in trouble and Dame Jewel will have our heads, you idiot!” He turned away. He resumed his patrol, moving further from his clanging and rattling partner to avoid drawing further attention.

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 evening. He let the pieces hang where gravity took them and walked the opposite direction. “This is frightfully boring and here I am wearing shitty armor on a shitty night.” His frustration peaked, but 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. A gentle squeeze of the trigger and a hushed whoosh, the missile sliced through the darkness like a vengeful comet. Its sharpened tip flashed through the dim moonlight as it traced its path. With a sickening thud, it found its mark, plunging into the yawning mouth of the soldier with a swift and merciless precision. The bolt trembled with a malevolent satisfaction as it nestled deep in the back of his throat, leaving a trail of crimson it its wake.

Nevertheless, the archer's frustration grew as he saw it did not deliver an instant fatal blow.

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. His arms struggled with the indecision to either yank 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 at Thulaeth, who tried to force another bolt into the chamber.

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. The loading was slow, but faster than physically inserting a bolt. Once loaded, he brought his aim towards the second mercenary, who heard his partner’s ruckus and turned to scold him again.

He wasn’t expecting to see his comrade stumbling around, an arrow stuck in his mouth. “Oi! Barby? What happened?” Barby’s heavily armored body collapsed with a banging thud on the ground. Now alerted, the remaining soldier scanned the area and drew his sword. He scoured the dark rooftops, but couldn’t locate where the shot came from. Thulaeth had kept 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 muddy road.

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 cold mud.

The warrior’s weary lids opened enough to notice a massive shadow lunging towards him. The blazing red eyes of a monster highlighted his scarcely noticeable dark skin. Shafts of moonlight touched and emphasized 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 weapon 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 circled towards his target, dagger drawn and leading the way. This mercenary busied himself digging in his pockmarked nose to hear any of the commotion 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 snout 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. Later, the “idiot” would realize that his life 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 for a quick kill. I’ll address that issue with him later, she concluded. At least I can count on Dayne and Maarko. Silent and deadly, no showing off.

She kept her sight on the house, 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 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 an ability or skill to detect arcane 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 runes surrounding the windows.

Saffron cleared her throat and yelled, “Zigfrid Mallor?” Shadows danced behind the thin curtains, 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!”