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Chapter 4 - Dougal's Guild

Astor was fuming by the time the city militia left. He slammed the door far harder than was necessary, making his two guards jump.

"Damned Mithril Blades are finally gone," Astor grumbled as he stomped back towards his room. "Those filthy brigands made a complete mess of my home!"

Lord Astor's manor had been turned inside-out by the Mithril Blades in their attempt to hunt down the dwarven thief. Dirt and footprints marred the floors, carpets, and baseboards. A vase of flowers was knocked over, leaving shards of porcelain in a water stain on the hardwood flooring. The paint on the banister was scuffed and scratched. The kitchen pantry, much to Astor's lack of surprise, had been cleaned out by the Blades. A pot of honey lay on its side, spilling the valuable contents on the countertop.

"At least we're still alive," Lady Astor told him. Her hair was disheveled from her nap on the floor. Even a day later, she had yet to sleep since Dougal's attack.

"Alive to watch a bunch of human scum spend an entire day ruining our manor!" Astor barked, his voice echoing through the empty halls. "And since they've turned up nothing, we've lost the one thing that was keeping our family in power all these years." He punched a nearby wall, jostling a painting lose as it clattered to the floor. "Damn that dwarf! My father must be spinning in his grave over this disgrace."

Astor's wife sighed in frustration. "If you're going to sulk like this all night, I'm going to go sleep in the guest room downstairs."

Astor stared at her for a moment. "But that room is filthy now that the Blades have been through there! It's unfit for a lady of your standing to sleep in such a place!"

"Better than listening to you whine all evening," she sneered at him, her eyes casting their icy gaze in his direction. "It's bad enough that ruffian interrupted my meal last night and put me to sleep in a hallway of all places, but hearing your tirade is leagues worse. I'll take my chances in the downstairs bed."

She turned her nose up and stomped away, her angry footfalls echoing down the hallway. The stairs creaked with her furious exit, and the manor shook when she slammed the guest room door shut.

Astor frowned. "Stubborn woman," he muttered as he moved to his bed.

The floor was haphazardly patched up with whatever random boards could be gathered on such short notice. The wall was scorched from the dwarf's magic, though fortunately the majority of the bedroom had been spared.

Astor clambered under the covers, and heard a door opening and closing downstairs. Figuring his wife was using the water closet, he laid his head down on the pillow and let the quiet night song of crickets outside his window lull him into a light slumber.

It wasn't long before a dull thump from downstairs snapped him back to full attention. He pondered whether it had simply been a phantom sound he sometimes heard before passing into the realm of dreams. That theory was quickly dispelled when he felt the tingle in the back of his mind.

Magic!_he thought, he body frozen in place. _That thieving bastard is back!

Yet this magic felt different than what Dougal used on his wife. This felt significantly more power, more ancient, and for some reason, more terrifying. It was as though a sickening miasma had exploded through the windows and was filling his lungs with its noxious fumes. Astor gripped his chest, gasping for breath. Someone was exerting a tremendous amount of power.

the room was suddenly bathed in darkness as a veil seemed to come from nowhere to blot out the light from the moon outside. Astor tried to light a candle, but the flame was consumed by the shadows. Even his own paltry skills with magic weren't enough to ward off the curtain that had fallen over his home.

Astor sprang from his bed, tripping as the covers tangled his feet and dragged him to the ground. Spitting a curse as his clumsiness, he rose and grabbed his robe. He tried to turn the doorknob, but he couldn't do it. His hands were too sweaty as panic began to take root. He rushed to wipe them off on his robe and tried again, throwing the door open as hard as he could.

"Elrun?" Astor called out when his voice finally returned to him.

The guard was no where to be seen.

"Elrun? Thesus?"

The only response was the sound of something scratching at the walls. It set his nerves on edge as chills ran up his spine. Boots stomping on wood could be heard now, though their pattern was irregular and unnatural somehow. The crackling of something dry and brittle sounded with each step. Astor steeled himself for whatever was coming.

At the end of the hall, Astor could see a stooped figure ascending the last step. It paused a moment, as though contemplating what it was doing, before it's head jerked upwards and twisted to the side to face him. A pair of glowing blue eyes stared back at him, and when the apparition opened its mouth to speak, the only sound that came out was a hollow breath that sounded like the last bits of air were being squeezed out of its lungs.

The creature shambled towards Astor, dragging something behind it with its hands. As it stalked closer, it became apparent that he was staring at the skeletal remains of one of his guards.

The skeleton stopped a few feet short of Astor and merely stared at him. It's lower jaw unhinged and rattled, as though it were trying to chuckle or chatter its teeth. Or, was it screaming in silent agony? Astor could not be sure.

A second figure ascended the steps, and soon Astor was joined by a hooded man in a dark cowl. He stepped purposefully around the skeleton and the undead being bowed as this man passed.

"Thank you, Elrun. You're too kind." The cloaked man spoke with a raspy voice that sounded like he was choking on maggots as he spoke.

"What have you done to my men?" Astor muttered, trying to work up the courage to say or do something to get himself out of this situation. He repeated himself, this time with more conviction than the first. "What did you do to them? Where's my wife?"

"I've merely given them what all men want, dear Astor," the man said. "In exchange for their servitude, I have granted them eternal life."

"That voice... Cormac?" Astor asked.

"Quite the astute observation."

The man pulled his hood back, revealing a face distorted by wrinkles and spots. His cheek bones were visible beneath his thin skin, and his head had a ring of grey atop it.

"What are you doing this for, Cormac?" Astor snapped as he gestured to his now undead guardsman. "No noble should dabble in such devilry."

Cormac smiled at him, stretching the folds of his wrinkles. "You know exactly why I'm here. Where's the fragment?"

Astor's heart stopped beating as he grew fearful of the man once more. He swallowed a lump in his throat, unable to speak.

"Come now Astor, your family has been guarding it all these years and I've finally come to claim it for myself," Cormac rasped at him, his voice growing dryer with each syllable. He cleared his throat and spoke once more. "Would you deny me my destiny?"

"I-I don't have the fragment," Astor stammered, fearful of what the other noble was about to do. Cormac's mouth curled downwards into a yellow-toothed snarl. "It was stolen last night! A dwarf named Dougal took it!"

"I should have known your incompetence would cost me my treasure," Cormac snapped. "You and the rest of the worthless scum in this city have already cost me dearly."

Words of power flew from Astor's mouth as he recited a spell. A blast of fire extended from his outstretched hands, filling the hall with a wave of heat and the smell of brimstone. The inferno consumed both Cormac and the skeletal Elrun, and smoke obscured Astor's vision. The walls ignited and the paintings that were hung up charred and curled up as they were turned to ashes in their frames. Burning cinders peppered the ground and singed the hardwood. The heat began to recede, but unfortunately for Astor, Cormac still stood before him.

The skeleton crackled and crumpled in a heap of ashes. A thin, green light escaped the creature's maw before vanishing as the undead abomination became lifeless once more.

Astor took a step back, his mouth flapping open but no sound coming out. His back was pressed against a wall. He dropped to his knees and lifted his hands up in prayer.

"Please, spare me!" he wailed. "I can give you anything you want!"

"But not what I need!" Cormac yelled in a fit of rage. "An apprentice sorcerer could have evoked better spellwork than you. Allow me to show you what a real mage is capable of. Risi ogheis consier!"

As the words left Cormac's mouth, ghostly hands appeared around Astor and held him tight in their grasp as they clutch to his ankles, wrists, and throat. They pulled him back, exposing his chest and stomach to Cormac, whose thin-lipped smile had returned.

"What are you doing?" Astor whined.

Cormac reached into his cloak with a pale, bony hand to produce a curved dagger. He lifted it and, in a movement that seemed far too swift for a frail looking old man, Cormac lunged forward to plunge his knife into Astor's heart with startling precision. Astor felt blood and bile rise in his throat, then stop as a brilliant, sickly green glow shone from a glass sphere on the dagger's pommel.

The last thing Astor saw before being consumed by a swirling vortex of darkness was Cormac's grin.

"My house thanks you for your kind donation," he sneered, before pulling out the dagger and walking away from the scene.

* * * * *

In the slums of Altair was a ruined old church that had once belonged to Laren, the Patron Deity of Thieves. Everything of value that wasn't too heavy to lift had been taken apart and stolen by rioters some number of years ago. The reason for the riots were long gone from the memories of Altair's citizens, but the slums remained like an ink stain on white garments.

It wasn't the church that was important. Even though Dougal was a devout follower of Laren, and prayed to him at every success (and, at times, cursed him for failings), he didn't care much for the building itself.

The dwarf had his eyes set on what lay beneath the church, where a secret tunnel lead to an underground safe house. It was a hiding place and meeting room for the most loyal of Laren's followers. The hidden basement had served its purpose well as a place to hoard the priesthood's treasures, and Dougal repurposed it for himself.

Despite the crumbling condition of the building outside, the area beneath the church was surprisingly well kept and in good condition. Only one room remained unusable due to the roof caving in, and neither Dougal nor his associates needed the extra space.

Guardsmen rarely came through the area, and the poor paid Dougal and Jinn little attention (the latter wore a cowl low over his face to hide his gnollish features). It was the perfect place for the pair to set up shop, and though it was across the city from their primary targets, it served its purpose well. No one had been seen so much as sniffing around the church since Dougal had arrived.

The first week they were in Altair, the thieves spent their nights pilfering goods from homes in the area to furnish the Hideout. They found nothing luxurious, but it was at least something. Chairs of rotting, creaking wood stood at key points in the room to give them a place to relax when they weren't out robbing the people of Altair. The main room spanned half the length of the church, or so Dougal estimated. A small alcove along one of the walls housed their sleeping quarters, as it was one of the warmest places in the relatively cool Hideout. A couple of straw mats, reeking of old sweat, were laid out against the wall. Jinn preferred to sleep on the floor, stating that the smell was hard to get out of his fur.

In an adjacent room there was a shoddy wooden table and some chairs that was used as their dining room. A set of crates acted like counter tops to allow them to prepare their meals. There was no stove, so the pair did most of their cooking using a fire pit above ground, or using Jinn's magic.

In a darkened recess was a large iron foot locker. It housed everything the pair had managed to procure since arriving in Altair. The lock, fashioned out of steel, was fake. It's plating hid a set of runes that kept the chest sealed until Dougal spoke the command word.

The corner where they stored the foot locker was beginning to overflow. Numerous treasures from their most recent excursions sat in disorganized heaps, doing nothing but taking up space. Precious gems, jewelry, and coins littered the floor, having rolled off piles of each other like rain drops into a gutter.

Jinn had mentioned before that they should sort their ill-gotten goods. Dougal dismissed the notion, saying it would take valuable time away from liberating the city's riches. "Someone who drinks a cask of ale a week shouldn't be advising others on what is and isn't a waste of time," he would always remark.

"Taking time to enjoy a good brew is never a waste of time!" Dougal would insist.

Priceless books and rare magical trinkets made up the bulk of their "earnings", with most of the materials stacked neatly off to the side. The worn, yellowing pages could barely handle being turned, thus making transporting and storing them properly of the utmost concern.

Though spells existed that could scribe the contents of one book to a blank one, and had existed for over a hundred years, the tomes were valuable for the fact that their contents had not and could not be copied. The secrets of the Sylvan were hard to come across and their age made duplication a risky business unless done by hand, and even that came with it's own risks.

The remaining treasures were made up by ornamental weaponry that the pair had swiped early on before learning that no broker or black market dealer would have anything to do with consigned goods. The craftsmen who worked for nobles were all well known and exclusive. Any prospective buyer, even on the black market, was familiar with the emblems and signatures of these artisans. No one wanted to be caught with such treasures. The penalty was simply too great.

Dougal was fiddling with something in the corner before he walked over to where Jinn was sitting. "Here," he said simply, holding a piece of pork on a skewer.

Jinn looked from the dwarf, to the food, then back again. "None for me?"

Dougal shrugged and said, "I didn't think you were hungry. You just ate."

"That was hours ago."

The dwarf seemed surprised. "Has it really been that long?"

"Yeah, it has been," Jinn said. He closed the book he was reading and set it aside, well away from where Dougal held the meat. "You were day dreaming the entire time. What were you thinking about, anyways?"

"Nothing in particular," Dougal said in the same dismissive way he always reacted when questioned.

Jinn looked at him, his eyebrows raised, but he didn't push the dwarf to answer his question. The gnoll wasn't stupid. He knew that something was going on in Dougal's head, but he didn't think it was necessary to broach the subject.

After all, both of them had their secrets.

Jinn reached out for the meat with a paw and focused intently on it for a second. The slab of pork combusted spontaneously, and then the flames were gone, leaving only a medium-rare, cooked pork steak in its place.

"That's better!" Dougal exclaimed and tried to bite it. Jinn swiped the skewer away from him at the last second. "Hey!"

With a harsh snap of his jaws, Jinn clamped down on the meat and managed to rip it in half. He handed what was left of the pork back to Dougal.

"Next time you go to market, get more than one. Then I won't take my food tax for cooking it," Jinn said while chewing as drops of grease dripped from his mouth. The gnoll eased back against the wall, propped up by several soft pillows. His paws found his book, and he began reading it again.

Dougal grumbled quietly to himself but otherwise didn't argue with Jinn. He plopped down on the ground and began to think again as he ate. He glanced at the Sylvan stone fragments that sat on a leather mat in the corner. They seemed to fit together, like a puzzle, but without the last two peices he hadn't any clue how to solve it.

What exactly did the Sylvan have that they needed a key like this? Dougal wondered, chewing his meal slowly.

_ Something powerful, _ a voice responded, catching Dougal off guard. The dwarf winced and exhaled sharply as he tried to stuff the thoughts deeper in his mind. It didn't work, and the voice only grew stronger and more insistent._ You know why you want the Sylvan's power. You want to rule Olaraa. _

There's nothing left of Olaraa, Dougal snapped, feeling ashamed that he was arguing with himself.

_ How can you be so sure? _ it responded. _ Maybe Olaraa is fine. Don't take our people lightly, lad. _

The dwarves of Olaraa were the most proficient sorcerers in the land, being naturally gifted with magic. There wasn't a single Olaraan who didn't know a spell or two, save for the handful of crippled Mundanes that existed. They led in magical resources and surpassed nearly every other race in terms of one-to-one magical power.

That all paled in comparison to the legends of Sylvan technology. Their magic and inventions were the stuff of myth and legend, but there remained places, such as Altair, that housed the Sylvan's secrets behind layers of security and treasures. Not even the elves, who were descendants of the Sylvan race, had any of their predecessor's technology. Judging by the state of Altair, they didn't have access to it either.

"I got it," Jinn said from behind his book. "You're thinking about Olaraa, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not," Dougal said firmly, casting a glance at Jinn. His frown gave him away, and the gnoll saw through his lie.

"Right," he remarked, slipping the book's ribbon between the pages to mark his place. "You're worried about that army that showed up."

"Only because the war is going to make things more difficult!" Dougal snapped.

The gnoll nodded, smiling knowingly. However, he chose not to push the issue any further than that. Dougal's face was turning a faint shade of red, and though Jinn enjoyed annoying the dwarf, he knew that there was a line that he would dare not cross.

Like trying to get Dougal to talk about his homeland.

"What's Dougal shouting about?" a voice called from above as stone ground against stone. Light poured in from a hole above them as the altar on the main floor slid aside. A young boy, no more than his twelfth year, leapt down the stairs into the Hideout.

He was tall, lanky, and lean. The boy's face as thin, almost feminine, and he wore a grey cloth over his head that covered his ears. He wore only a ragged white tunic with tan hide breeches that were covered in mud around the bottom of the legs. His left leg had a sheath strapped to it where he kept a small knife. On his back as a small pack that he shucked off before sitting down.

"He's whining that life isn't easy," Jinn replied.

Dougal ignored the gnoll and glowered at the boy. "You're late, Petrus."

"Aw, who cares?" Petrus asked. He tugged a pouch off his belt and lobbed it at the dwarf. "I come bearing coin. Could you at least say thank you?"

Dougal snatched the pouch in mid air and shook his head. He shook the bag and it jingled lightly as coins were jostled around. "I hope you got this from the Meadows."

"Honest to Laren, I only took it from them rich folk," Petrus said, holding his forefingers against his heart.

The sack had a small handful of gold and silver coins. It wasn't a lot, but it was still impressive that a child like Petrus had been able to get that much. Dougal cinched the pouch tightly and slipped it into a hidden pocket on the inside of his tunic. If nothing else, the money would help feed the small group of thieves.

He looked up at Petrus and met the elf's eyes. "Where's Albert?" he asked sternly.

"Oh! Um... well..." Petrus sputtered, looking for the words that he wanted to say. Nothing seemed to be coming out of his mouth though and Dougal prodded him again. "He's... well-"

"Oi ye damned halfie!" a voice shouted from above as the secret entrance slid open once again and another dwarf stomped down the stairs. "Stop bringin' yer pets back here!"

Albert, was shorter and rounder than Dougal, with a very thin beard that stretched from ear to ear like the strap of a helm. He had short, disheveled blond hair that was tucked behind his ears. His tunic and leggings were tattered and the boots he wore were falling apart. The sole was barely connected to the boot itself. Albert very much had the appearance of a street urchin. It was the perfect camouflage for moving through the city and remaining unnoticed.

Dougal turned to look at Petrus. Even Jinn looked up from his book to stare at the boy whose face was beginning to flush red.

"What have you brought home this time?" Dougal sighed. Petrus didn't seem to want to answer him.

Jinn's nose twitched and he sniffed. His lips curled, revealing the tips of his teeth. "It's a cat. A young one, too. Probably a kitten no more than four. No..." he sniffed the again, "three months old."

Everyone stared at Jinn for a moment, unsure if the gnoll was bluffing or telling the truth. Dougal just shook his head and said, "Where is it?" after a long sigh.

"It be in his bag," Albert chirped, his voice cracking. He moved to grab Petrus' pack, but the half-elf darted away as quickly as he could, keeping his distance from the young dwarf.

Dougal was already behind Petrus, who seemed unaware of his presence, and managed to open the bag and snatch the kitten hidden inside as swiftly as he swiped a coin purse. The small orange tabby was mewling and squirmed a little in Dougal's thick hands.

"Are you hungry, Jinn?" Dougal asked with a smirk.

"No!" Petrus shrieked and rushed to try and grab the kitten. Dougal was much to agile and managed to dance around the boy with ease while cradling the critter in his arms.

"I don't eat cats," Jinn snarled.

"I'll take it back up," Albert said, waddling over to Dougal. He held the cat with one hand and began climbing up the stairs to leave the Hideout.

While he was gone, Dougal turned and sighed as he advanced on Petrus. "You can't be bringing back every homeless animal you see."

"But it was scared!" Petrus assured him. He sat back down in his chair and began to sulk.

"It was scared because some stupid twig boy was coming up to it and probably chasing it down an alleyway!" Dougal scolded him.

"But it was!" Petrus looked hurt by Dougal's words. "There was a big dog nearby and he was being chased by it."

"Oh, Laren..." Dougal brought his palm up to his face and lowered his head.

Jinn could only huff a series of short laughs. The gnoll had little respect for the two boys, but he had even less respect for Petrus. His constant desire to save all these stray animals was liable to get him in trouble.

"Look, I don't care if it can perform a ballad that would put a bard to shame, you can't keep the cat," Dougal said.

"But I-"

"No buts!" Dougal said with the commanding tone of a parent, his raised voice echoing off the walls. "I may be a kind dwarf but even I have my limits. Don't push it or I'll be kicking you out before you know it."

Petrus looked down at the ground and held his head there. The boy looked to be on the verge of tears, but Dougal wasn't going to be won over by the half-elf's sulking and self-pity. After a long silence, Petrus slowly nodded his head. He said nothing more as he stood up from his chair and shuffled over to his bed to lie down and, presumably, go to sleep.

Albert came back down into the Hideout shortly after he'd released the kitten. "Th' cat did'nae wanna leave an' he kept followin' me back. Had t' scare the little bugger pretty good to get it outta here." He stopped talking when he spotted Petrus sulking on the bed. His eyes darted over towards Dougal, who was in the adjacent room rummaging through the foodstuffs.

The young dwarf's eyes lit up. "Oi, he got in trouble, did he?"

"Shut up, Albert," Dougal yelled from the other room. "Keep this up and I won't keep Petrus off you the next time you piss him off."

After rummaging around their stores for a few minutes, Dougal said, "Looks like we could use a few things. At least something you brought home will be of use, Petrus," he added as he fished the coin purse out of his tunic. He took a few silver coins out and tossed the pouch into their pile of goods next to the lockbox. Dougal deftly slipped the coins into a belt pouch on his left side, opposite of his reagents pouch.

"I'm going to the market. You two are going to stay here," Dougal ordered. The youths didn't question his orders, though the dwarf was surprised when Petrus didn't even offer up a word of protest and instead just rolled over and turned his back to him.

"I'm going too," Jinn said. He marked his place in his book and retrieved his cloak, slipping it on and tucking his tail down against his leg.

"I think people are going to notice a gnoll walking around," said Dougal. He put on his coat, a simple leather duster, and slid his right arm gently into the sleeve. He felt the cold touch of metal against his skin as he brushed against the hidden dagger he had sheathed there. Walking around with weapons in the open made people look at one strangely, and caught the guards' attention. That was something that Dougal didn't want for a simple trip to the market.

"I want to get out of this basement for a while and stretch my legs," Jinn said, frowning. "Are you going to deny me that, as if you were my jailor?"

"I'm saying I don't want to cause trouble today." Dougal raised his hands defensively. "You're tall, you're covered in fur, and your voice doesn't sound human, to say the least. You'd have to be struck blind, dumb, and deaf to not notice you don't belong here."

Jinn snarled at him, then went back to his corner to retrieve a book. It was different than the one he'd been reading before, and several times larger. Holding the tome in one hand, with the spine resting in his palm, he opened it up and began leafing through the text until he found whatever it was that he was looking for.

When he stopped, his fingers traced the pages of his book. Dougal could feel power funneling towards the gnoll, and as it became more concentrated, little globes of mana began to dance around him in a rainbow of colors. They changed from one hue to another, shifted sizes, and glittered as they moved. It meant whatever Jinn had planned was going to be one doozy of a spell.

"Nova, Ashuer ex Fren, burash ath seif ex gibeon. Evekel: Haigle!" After speaking the words of power to his spell, Jinn slammed the book shut. The mana surrounding him whizzed down towards the ground and picked up speed. The globes spun around him so fast, it was like he was surrounded by a ring of lights. The energy began to climb and, to Dougal's astonishment, Jinn's form began to change.

His legs changed from paws into bare, pink skin. His claws had vanished and he'd grown an extra toe. His fur vanished as the ring of light climbed upward, and to everyone's surprise, his clothes changed to accommodate his new shape and size. His tail vanished as the light passed through it, and his frame became bulkier instead of remaining lanky. His snout disappeared, and in its place as a small, pointed nose. His eyes were still green and had an uncanny fierceness contained in them, perhaps signifying the beastial nature of his true form. His mane of hair that stretched from the tip of his head to the tip of his tail seemed to move as if alive and curl itself around his face, forming a thin beard.

When the changes were completed and the ring of light passed over his head, it began to shrink until it collapsed in on itself, and the remaining energy dissipated back into the air. Jinn now stood before them, no longer a gnoll, but as a human. And, to Dougal's shame and surprise, an attractive looking man at that. The dwarf had to wonder if his friend had some control over how his new form looked, and whether he had made himself overly handsome on purpose. There was not a single blemish or scar to be found anywhere on the skin that showed, and his hair appeared clean, not greasy.

"This is... well... this is surprising," Dougal muttered, trying to find the right word to explain what he'd just watched.

"Wow, that was amazing!" Petrus exclaimed, momentarily forgetting that he was sulking about the kitten. "How did you do that?"

"Magic, how else, pup?" Jinn replied. His voice still had the same gruff quality it had before his transformation. "It's just an illusion spell."

"When did you learn to do that? We could've used that countless times before!" Dougal said. He was upset that the gnoll had kept such knowledge from them. If they didn't have to hide Jinn all the time, life would've been easier. At the very least, it would've afforded them the ability to move around during the day a bit more often.

"You should spend some time reading the spell books we've stolen over the last few months," Jinn replied. He rolled his eyes as Dougal continued to fume at him. "I only figured it out a few days ago, and this is my first time using it. I don't feel human," he added, running a hand over the length of his arm. "Do I look human?"

The others nodded. "Other than th' sound o' yer voice, ye be human," Albert affirmed. "Why did ye not change yer voice?"

"I can't. The illusion is too weak to change how I sound or smell. It just changes how beings can perceive my appearance."

"You should change me next! I wanna be a minotaur!" Petrus said excitedly. "No one would ever make fun of me for being skinny again." He shot a dirty look in Albert's direction. The dwarf shrugged.

Jinn sighed in frustration. "Let's go, Dougal. This one's making my head hurt," he said, casting a sharp glare at Petrus. "People who understand nothing about magic shouldn't waste time asking about it."

"Aw, but how can I learn without asking?" Petrus asked.

"It's called a book," Jinn said with a snarl. He began to ascend the steps to get out of the Hideout. Dougal was quick to follow. He was trying to hide the grin on his face. The dwarf found it endlessly entertaining that Jinn couldn't handle the two younger thieves and their constant questions.

"Can't we come to?" Petrus whined.

"No. You're both staying here," Dougal commanded as he clambered out of the basement and pressed a hidden panel to slide the altar back into place. The stone shifted almost noiselessly, as the only sound heard was a soft grinding sound. The altar locked in place and now both Dougal and Jinn stood in the quiet, abandoned church.

"I'm still mad you never told me you knew how to cast illusion magic," said Dougal as he and Jinn started walking.

"It took a long time to study, I only figured it out recently. I simply haven't been presented with an opportunity to test this illusion out."

"I see." Dougal stroked his beard, thinking about his companion's new found ability and how he could use it.

_ The gnoll is full of surprises. Olaraa always did underestimate their power. _

"I don't suppose you know how long you can hold that spell over yourself, do you?"

"An hour. Maybe two at most," Jinn admitted. They turned as soon as they got to the street and headed southward towards the nearby market. "If I lose my focus, I'll lose the illusion, too. So don't expect me to be using my magic until we get back."

"Good to know."

The sun was still shining brightly even though it would soon be sundown. Dougal brought his cowl up and draped it low over his face to shield his face from the heat, affording him a moderate amount of comfort in the heat. He hated the summer months. They were far too hot for his liking, and the nights were too short, especially so far down south. He anxiously awaited the cooler winter months, when the nights were longer and people were less apt to notice someone skulking about as they huddled together for warmth near their hearths.

"It's refreshing to be outside during the day for a change," Jinn remarked quietly. "Being stuffed down there with those two is simply too much to bear on most days."

"Aha! I knew that's why you wanted out of there!" Dougal said with a smug sense of self-satisfaction. "I should've told you to stay back and look after those two. Which would have been a pity, since I wouldn't be there to see you get angry with them."

"I'm so glad my suffering is at the forefront of your concerns." Jinn didn't look the least bit amused as he frowned.

"Get a sense of humor, Jinn." Dougal smacked him on the arm with the back of his hand. "It's not like they're hurting you."

"Being around them makes me feel more stupid by the second. How are they not hurting me?"

"Because you're already stupid compared to m--!" Dougal was cut off as Jinn swiped at him, wrapping his arm around his thick neck and squeezing a little.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over your windpipe being constricted," Jinn said in a low, harsh whisper. "Would you like to try that again?" He didn't let go until Dougal nodded as best he could.

"You gnolls are a testy lot." The dwarf rubbed lightly at his neck. "I don't see why you get so angry when it's the truth."

"That's it!" Jinn yelled.

Unfortunately for him, the dwarf was already taking off at a sprint, rushing headlong into a crowd of people as he entered the market square. Jinn shook his head, sighed, and went after him. He'd have to get the dwarf back later.