Alard's Homecoming

The Thieves Guild, written by Jacoberr, Chapter eighty nine, A Lord's Homecoming. The Dark Thieves Tower that forever lived in the shadows of the Dragon's teeth did not welcome people. It swallowed them. It was a massive, silent throat of black stone that drank the light and held the cold. But to Allard, it was the only warmth he knew. He walked through the main hall, his steps heavy but steady. The limp was gone, or at least he had decided it was gone. Pain was information, nothing more, and right now the information told him he was alive. He was home, and there was work to do. Deputy. Word of his arrival preceded him, and his way was slowed by the many people who came and greeted him outside. But as he entered the tower, a single shout came from the upper landing, Maeler. She didn't take the stairs. She vaulted the railing, dropping ten feet to land silently in a crouch, before springing up to meet him. You're back, she whispered, grabbing his forearms before pulling him in for an unexpected but welcome, tight but quick hug. Smiling a lad looked down. On her as they parted, I am. I couldn't believe it when they said you just walked here. Tears welled in Mahler's eyes. Well, rumor has it that us old thieves have a few tricks up our sleeves. Plus I had plenty of help. Did you attend the council vote? I'm curious how Polo took it? When Raylan entered with Cart and Vesper. What's this? Allard listened as Maeler filled in the gaps Carch's desperation, the alliance, the plan to put Vesper on the craft throne, the path to the ultimate revenge against Polo, his humiliation, Vesper, this was an interesting twist Allard had not seen coming. Come let us sit. Allard walked toward the stairs to head to the guildmaster's receiving area. Maeler fell into step beside him. Alad trusted Vesper. The man had found a strange, almost religious calling in the service of the tower. He had saved a lad's life when it would have been easier to let him die. But a guild master, he is a knife. A lad thought you use a knife to cut a knot, not to tie a new one. Vesper lacked the patience for governance. He lacked the love for the people that made a leader. He could rule through fear and perhaps learn to rule through wisdom. But learning these things with Polo in the picture did not seem wise. Raelan will see it. He will see that Rogers is the stabilizing force we need. He will vote for Rogers. Rogers, what is his role? Maeler looked up at Allard. It was her turn to be surprised. A Lard outline that Polo advanced him as guildmaster craft designate as the hero of ness. A nod was her only reply. Raelin will see the wisdom of him filling that role. I am sure it does make sense, and Vesper will understand. He is a cold man, but there is a ruthless pragmatism about him. Indeed, a Lard again glanced at Maeler, and you you seem at home. She hesitated, glancing toward the upper floors. That is a good way to put it. I have found something here someone. Allard immediately understood. The guard from the mines Dahla. Yes. Maela looked down at her hands. She makes this place feel less like a barren tower and more like a home. I didn't think I wanted that. I didn't think I could have that. A Lard saw the wistfulness in her expression, a vulnerability that was atypical for her. She always used sarcasm as her defense. Vulnerable, she was not. He placed a hand on her shoulder. A warrior fights for piece mailer. There is no shame in finding it for yourself, she smiled, A small, genuine thing. Come, you should meet them. That sounds delightful. They turned and walked to the small common room off the third floor landing. A dark haired woman with the bearing of a soldier was mending a tunic by the window. Beside her, sitting on the floor and staring at a pattern of dust motes in a sunbeam, was a man in a simple black tunic. Darla stood immediately, her movement sharp and disciplined. She sized Arlard up in a single heartbeat, the scar, the sighe the way he carried his weight, and then she nodded a soldier, recognizing a commander. Deputy Allard, Maela speaks of you often, and she speaks. Of you with a fondness I have rarely seen. He liked her. She was solid, She was the earth that grounded Maeler's fa He turned his attention to the man on the floor, Prosper, the wizard Mailer described as the one who had lost his mind to save his wife, and this is the magician. Prosper didn't look up. He was tracing a line on the stone floor with his finger. He suddenly looked up, alarm on his face. I've been waiting for you, Allard smiled. The man's damaged mind was playing tricks on him, and Allard kindly wanted to provide him as little conflict as possible. I'm glad, and here i am. Prosper stood up. He was clearly agitated. He walked over to Allard and grabbed his arms. His grip was desperate, tight. I have a message. A lad didn't flinch. Go on, I'm listening. They know, they know the ageless one is dead. They had been waiting, and now they know. Prosper let go and stumbled back, his face suddenly stricken. They are coming. A chill traced its way down Allard's spine. It sounded like the ramblings of a broken mind, nonsense born of trauma, and yet Alard had lived in this tower for decades. He had felt the hum in the walls when the wind blew from the north. He had seen Pietro have moments of clarity or insanity that felt eerily similar. Before Alard could ask more, a commotion erupted from the main hall below, the heavy thud of the main doors opening, followed by shouts A Lard turned the spell broken, stay here, He moved to the stairs, descending with as much speed as he could muster. Mielah followed. Alard's wounds still hurt, and Alard was unsure he would ever be able to move quickly again. Maela didn't seem to notice, however. He reached the landing just as the doors swung wide. Phelos walked in first, looking like he had crawled through shit and decided a bath was optional, his face smeared with soot, and behind him Raylan. The young man looked exhausted. His face was pale, drawn tight with stress, but he was alive. When Raylan looked up and saw Allard standing on the stairs, he stopped, his face transformed. The stoic mask of command slipped, revealing a buoyant young man filled with joy. Allard Raylan ran. He didn't walk with dignity. He sprinted across the hall and threw his arms around Alard, burying his face in the rough wool of Alard's tunic. I thought you were dead, Vesper said. Allard held him, feeling the tremors in the boy's frame. He looked over Raylan's head at Felos. How did it go? Felos shrugged, unbuckling his sword belt. Raylan isn't dead, so let's call it a success. A Lard pulled back, gripping Raylan by the shoulders. He looked him in the eye. The vote, Tell me it is done. Tell me Rogers is the guild master craft. Raylan took a step back. He wiped his face, the mask of the guildmaster sliding back into place, though it fit a little less securely now. I voted for Vesper. A Lad stared at him. The silence stretched heavy and suffocating. Vesper, Raylan, Vesper is a weapon. He is not a builder. Rogers was the bridge. Rogers was the piece. When Raylan didn't reply, A Lard added, perhaps frustration, entering. His voice, he was the guild's guarantee. It is about more than the guild a lad. Allard closed his eyes. It was a mistake, but it was a tie, not a loss. There was still time to fix things. He clapped his hand on Raylan's shoulder. I'm just glad you're safe. A loud cough came from the landing above. Alard glanced up to see a woman descending the stairs. She walked in as if she owned the stones beneath her feet. Her dress was a flowing, vibrant red that seemed to burn in the gloom. Of the tower. Her black hair fell like water over her sho shoulders. She was stunning, She was regal. She was dangerous. Alard crossed his arms. I do not know you. The woman stopped. She looked at Allard, her dark eyes sweeping over his scar, his sighs, his stance. A slow, knowing smile touched her lips. Ah, but I know you. You are Allard, You were Pietro's deputy. Who are you? I am Rebecca? Allard shook his head. Who is this woman? Why was she here? Why was she wearing red in a city that feared the color. He glanced at Raylan and he stopped. Raylan was staring at her. The exhaustion was gone from his face, the fear, the stress of the vote, the weight of being a guild master, it had all vanished. He was beaming. It was a look of pure, unadulterated happiness. Rebecca Raylan stepped around Allard. Allard looked from the dangerous woman in red to the infect satuated boy who held the fate of the city in his hands. This, Allard thought, a new and different kind of worries settling in his gut has gotten very interesting. A podcast Alchemy production