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Authors: Martin Scott
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the Sorcerer. I certainly have offended the Society of Friends.
In front of me I spy a wooden manhole cover. The sewerage system of Turai is one of the wonders of the world, so they say, with a tunnel leading all the way from the Palace to the sea. Not for the first time in my crime-fighting career, I find myself in a position to admire it. I whip off the cover and plunge into the tunnels.
The stench is unbearable. Rats scatter in all directions as I stumble my way through the blackness in front of me. I bitterly regret pawning my illuminated staff along with my protection charm. This is a grim, hellish place to be in the dark. Still, having been here before, I know this sewer leads to the harbour, and just before it discharges into the sea there’s another manhole cover through which I can make my escape.
Unsure of whether I’m still being pursued or not I halt and listen.
“Try further down,” comes a voice.
Somewhere behind me is a greenish light. The Sorcerer’s illuminated staff. I worry again about how many spells he might be carrying. Rogue criminal Sorcerers are rare in Turai, thanks to the Sorcerers Guild, but when they appear I’ve no real protection against them. I wade on through the filth, ignoring the stink and the squeaking rats, feeling along the wall for the ladder which will tell me when I’m under the exit. I hope there aren’t any alligators down here. Rumours abound of alligators living in the city sewers. I don’t think I believe them. Even they must have somewhere better to go. There’s a whole sandy bay outside, unless the dolphins chase them in here, I suppose. Dolphins aren’t fond of alligators, apparently.
I pick up the pace a little, but this is a mistake because almost immediately a man somewhere behind shouts that he can hear me and this cry is followed by the sound of feet splashing quickly through the water. I curse and hurry on but the splashing footsteps draw nearer.
Round the next bend I pause and turn with my sword and dagger at the ready. An ignominious death, I reflect, succumbing to a heart attack spell in the city sewers. Everyone will think I fell in drunk.
The sewer is around four feet wide and just tall enough for me to stand up in. Not a lot of room for fighting. The faintest of glows appear round the corner, followed by the first of my pursuers, groping his way round, a dagger stretched out in front of him. He’s dead before he even sees me, his throat cut by my blade with the sort of well-measured stroke I learned in the Army when I was a confident young soldier and we drove the Niojans back from our walls and the Orcs out of our country.
After this it’s not so easy. The next two advance more slowly. A little more light now shows, allowing them to see me more clearly. I use my sword and dagger to parry their dual attack and retreat slightly, aware that this is risky. Who knows what I might trip over down here. The combat is grim and silent. The two Society men drive me steadily back, offering no opening for attack. Behind them I can just make out the dim outlines of their companions, and further back is the largely shadowy outline of the Sorcerer, his staff casting an eerie green light over us all.
My assailants are not top-class fighters—gang members rarely are—but in the confined space of the sewer I find it hard to bring my superior sword fighting skills into play. The sewage comes up to my knees, preventing me from manoeuvring, and all the time I’m worried that the Sorcerer will unleash a deadly spell in my direction, although this depends on what he’s carrying. Some aggressive spells are hard to direct. In this tunnel he’d be quite likely to hit his own men too.
The fighter on my right grows impatient and makes a sudden lunge, but he’s careless and leaves a gap low down in his defence through which I plant the tip of my sword into his thigh. He groans and stumbles backwards. Another man is about to step into his place when the Sorcerer
In front of me I spy a wooden manhole cover. The sewerage system of Turai is one of the wonders of the world, so they say, with a tunnel leading all the way from the Palace to the sea. Not for the first time in my crime-fighting career, I find myself in a position to admire it. I whip off the cover and plunge into the tunnels.
The stench is unbearable. Rats scatter in all directions as I stumble my way through the blackness in front of me. I bitterly regret pawning my illuminated staff along with my protection charm. This is a grim, hellish place to be in the dark. Still, having been here before, I know this sewer leads to the harbour, and just before it discharges into the sea there’s another manhole cover through which I can make my escape.
Unsure of whether I’m still being pursued or not I halt and listen.
“Try further down,” comes a voice.
Somewhere behind me is a greenish light. The Sorcerer’s illuminated staff. I worry again about how many spells he might be carrying. Rogue criminal Sorcerers are rare in Turai, thanks to the Sorcerers Guild, but when they appear I’ve no real protection against them. I wade on through the filth, ignoring the stink and the squeaking rats, feeling along the wall for the ladder which will tell me when I’m under the exit. I hope there aren’t any alligators down here. Rumours abound of alligators living in the city sewers. I don’t think I believe them. Even they must have somewhere better to go. There’s a whole sandy bay outside, unless the dolphins chase them in here, I suppose. Dolphins aren’t fond of alligators, apparently.
I pick up the pace a little, but this is a mistake because almost immediately a man somewhere behind shouts that he can hear me and this cry is followed by the sound of feet splashing quickly through the water. I curse and hurry on but the splashing footsteps draw nearer.
Round the next bend I pause and turn with my sword and dagger at the ready. An ignominious death, I reflect, succumbing to a heart attack spell in the city sewers. Everyone will think I fell in drunk.
The sewer is around four feet wide and just tall enough for me to stand up in. Not a lot of room for fighting. The faintest of glows appear round the corner, followed by the first of my pursuers, groping his way round, a dagger stretched out in front of him. He’s dead before he even sees me, his throat cut by my blade with the sort of well-measured stroke I learned in the Army when I was a confident young soldier and we drove the Niojans back from our walls and the Orcs out of our country.
After this it’s not so easy. The next two advance more slowly. A little more light now shows, allowing them to see me more clearly. I use my sword and dagger to parry their dual attack and retreat slightly, aware that this is risky. Who knows what I might trip over down here. The combat is grim and silent. The two Society men drive me steadily back, offering no opening for attack. Behind them I can just make out the dim outlines of their companions, and further back is the largely shadowy outline of the Sorcerer, his staff casting an eerie green light over us all.
My assailants are not top-class fighters—gang members rarely are—but in the confined space of the sewer I find it hard to bring my superior sword fighting skills into play. The sewage comes up to my knees, preventing me from manoeuvring, and all the time I’m worried that the Sorcerer will unleash a deadly spell in my direction, although this depends on what he’s carrying. Some aggressive spells are hard to direct. In this tunnel he’d be quite likely to hit his own men too.
The fighter on my right grows impatient and makes a sudden lunge, but he’s careless and leaves a gap low down in his defence through which I plant the tip of my sword into his thigh. He groans and stumbles backwards. Another man is about to step into his place when the Sorcerer
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