"Kehrsyn."

"Well, olare, Kehrsyn. So where do you live?"

"I… don't really have a… a place to stay. Anymore." Kehrsyn's voice was very soft.

"Well, Kehrsyn, I'd say maybe your luck is changing," said Ruzzara. Once someone had no hope, it was best to be the first one who offered it.

Kehrsyn looked up, and Ruzzara saw a desperate sparkle return to the waif's eyes. Kehrsyn stood, ending up a little taller than Ruzzara, which annoyed her. It was harder to be intimidating when looking up.

"You mean I can sleep in the guild house?" asked Kehrsyn, with just a shade of fear and hope.

Ruzzara laughed. She liked the hint of desperation in Kehrsyn's voice. It was best to cultivate that by keeping the ray of hope to a glimmer.

"Aren't you getting ahead of the horse there, hon? We gotta talk about the assignment."

"Right," said Kehrsyn, and Ruzzara was pleased to see that she was focusing her attention so she'd remember what she was about to be told.

Ruzzara turned so that she faced Kehrsyn squarely. She folded her arms to add gravity to her words.

"This merchant has somehow laid his grubby paws on an important item of great magical power," she began.

"You want me to steal a magic item," interrupted Kehrsyn, her lower eyelids trembling.

"No hook in your blade, is there? That's right. It's apparently pretty potent. Some daredevil grave robber done said that he dug up this magic staff while under hire from this here merchant. It must be right important if a merchant sends folks after it while the city is under siege, don't you think? We think we can use that staff to protect our city against the pharaoh's army, or mayhap even drive them back."

"Drive them back?" asked Kehrsyn. "What does it do?"

"That's not your concern," said Ruzzara. "Leave that to those what can handle it. You just need to know what it looks like. It's a wand one span shy of a cubit, the color of dried bone, and carved all over with those pictogryph thingies. And there's a wavy band of bronze all wrapped 'round the top, with a big piece of black amber in the top. We think this here merchant intends to sell it to the Zhentarim. They'll take it up away to the north, for their own plans. Needless to say, that makes us as mad as a constipated goat, selling out our whole darn future for a few lousy shekae."

"Sounds to me like it must be worth a mountain of gold," said Kehrsyn.

"That's beside the point, hon," groaned Ruzzara. "Keep the big picture here. We're talking saving Unther's collective hide from the Mulhorandi army."

"Right. Almost a cubit long, you say?" repeated Kehrsyn, measuring the length against her arm. "So where is it?"

"Do you know where the Plaza of the Northern Wizards is?"

"No."

"It used to be called Gilgeam's Altar. Where he used to hold executions."

"Oh, yeah, that place."

"Great. Go down Port Street. At the next corner, on the left, you'll see a large building called Wing's Reach. It's in there.

"This ought to help," she added, pulling a piece of parchment from inside her jerkin.

Kehrsyn unrolled it, trembling. "It's a map," she said.

"I knew you were a smart one, hon. You know how to read that?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. It's… rather detailed."

"Yeah, we found the floor plan in the city archives," lied Ruzzara. "That map's as accurate as an elven archer. It's got the location of that staff thing all marked on there. That should be all you need."

"Gilgeam's Altar, Port Street, Wing's Reach," Kehrsyn echoed. "What do I do when I get it?"

"Go to the Mage Bazaar and look for a Red Wizard named Eileph. He knows what to do."

"Won't he keep it?" asked Kehrsyn.

"Boy, you just don't trust anyone, do you, hon?"

"I haven't ever gotten much reason to."

"Well, to answer your question," said Ruzzara, "no, he won't keep it. We gave Eileph a nice retainer."

Kehrsyn nodded and thought for a bit.

"So, the guild house?" she asked.

Ruzzara chuckled, reached out with her right hand, and gripped the back of Kehrsyn's left arm, guiding her out of the alley.

"You gotta remember, hon," she said, "that only guild members sleep in the guild house. To become a member, not only do you have to prove yourself, but we gotta know you're quiet as a crocodile."

"I won't talk," said Kehrsyn. "I promise."

Ruzzara laughed again, shaking her head. "Hon, right now, you're just a contractor. And we never take a contract without security."

So saying, she shaped her fingers into a curious pattern and pressed them very hard into Kehrsyn's arms. With a single command word, she blasted raw magical energy out of her fingertips. They flared, burning through Kehrsyn's sleeve and searing her flesh beneath. Ruzzara pulled her hand back, before Kehrsyn's traumatized skin might have a chance to stick to her fingers.

Kehrsyn cried out and pulled away.

"That's our slave mark, hon," said Ruzzara. "Our brand. You belong to us now. You mess up, any one of us can kill you in broad daylight as you do your little thing in the Jackal's Courtyard. No one will raise an eyebrow, because you're nothing but a slave."

"I am not a slave!" protested Kehrsyn, pinching the very top of her branded arm in an attempt to strangle the pain.

"Oh, you know that, hon, and we know that, but no one else knows that. Hey, you're just a homeless street urchin, right? So just be sure to keep that little ol' brand covered up, and no one will be the wiser."

"I'll tell them I'm freeborn!" snarled Kehrsyn, eyes narrowed.

Ruzzara could tell she was just barely holding on.

"It'll be hard to tell anyone anything when you're dead."

Kehrsyn stopped in her tracks, trembling.

Ruzzara smiled disarmingly and said, "Hey, that'll only happen if you double-cross us. If you do well, why, the future will open wide just for you… nice bed, fancy food, friends who look after you, gold…" Ruzzara paused to let her words sink in. "Ta-ta, hon," she said as she walked away. "You have two days. Don't be late. It'd be a shame to ruin a work of art like you."

She walked away, whistling. She passed along the word about the new recruit to the one person who needed to know, then wandered back to rejoin her group. By the time she'd drawn a chair up by the fire, kicked off her boots and socks, and finished her first glass of liqueur, all thoughts of Kehrsyn's plight were gone from her mind.

Kehrsyn aimlessly walked the streets of Messemprar for the remaining daylight hours. Her partially eaten pear sat in her left hand unnoticed, almost forgotten, its raw surfaces slowly turning brown. Her right hand clutched her left biceps just opposite the throbbing brand. She couldn't see the burn well and dared not touch it, but the unrelenting sensation of heat, the blisters that surrounded the area, and the bitter odor all told her she'd been injured fairly seriously. Tears of fear, rage, shame, and pain quivered at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She was an Untheri; she would persevere. Somehow she would prosper just as her nation had persevered and occasionally prospered under the tyranny of the god-king Gilgeam.

Even worse than the pain of the burn were the knot in her stomach, and the anguish, nausea, and hopelessness it brought to her. She wanted to curl up but wouldn't. She needed to eat but couldn't.

All the darkest times of her childhood were falling back in upon her soul, wiping away what self-respect she'd had, like a thunderhead blotting out a young spring sky. What little hope she had was offered by a den of thieves… hardly the most auspicious bearers of gifts.

Her pride urged her to find a way not to let the ugly wall-walking sorceress get the better of her (though, in fact, she already had), but without knowing the guild's reach she could find no sure solution. She'd been placed into a position in which she had no choice. She'd always told herself before that there was hope, yet she could see none left.