Free The Alabaster Staff by Edward Bolme

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 verytop 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.

K ehrsyn aimlessly walked the