Roland jumped back, narrowly avoiding yet another swing of Kythos's mace. Sparks flew off the wall. The rogue had managed to lead the old guard up to the rooftops and between a block of a dozen tall chimneys. That had proved to be a wise decision. The narrow space between the chimneys made it difficult for Kythos to gather his mace's momentum properly.

The pair exchanged half-strength glances and blows at one another as they shuffled along the rows.

'I brought a hundred guards with me this time,' Kythos roared as Roland gracefully tilted the warden's next strike downwards and into the brickwork of the nearest chimney. More sparks. 'Oh, the things I'm going to do to you, Darrow. I don't think my mother would much care for what state you're in at your next hanging.'

'You've got to catch me first,' Roland reminded him. He deftly brought the rapier's point towards the tiefling's face, but Kythos shifted at the last second, and the weapon glanced harmlessly off his pauldron.

Roland believed Kythos when he said he'd brought a hundred guards. He reckoned that's about how many guards it would take. Unfortunately for Kythos, though, Roland had no intention of being dragged back into that dingy dungeon again. Not one. As always, he just needed to wait for the right opportunity and jump on it.

Kythos brought in another swing, this one accompanied by a snarl, but he just didn't have the space for a truly fierce blow. Roland deflected the strike away easily enough. If he had one advantage in this awkward encounter, then at least he had a weapon more suited to slight movements.

'Ah, just in time,' Kythos sneered, looking past the rogue.

Roland didn't need to look over his shoulder to realise what Kythos was referring to. He was certain there would be numerous tubheads awaiting them at the end of this chimney-filled alley.

Time had just run out.

'You grubbers think you're the only ones that know this city?' Kythos chortled, his mace smashing through the nearest chimney. Bits of brick and stone dust showered Roland. Kythos was leading him towards the guards. 'Wrong. I know a few of its secrets myself, and I knew exactly where you were going to go. There's no scaffolding to save you this time.'

Roland couldn't dare deny that this was yet another tricky situation, but he'd gotten out of worse. He took a moment to consider the position he was in. The rogue couldn't get past Kythos, couldn't squeeze through the closely knitted chimneys, and couldn't get past the wall of armoured tubheads behind him. Trapped like a rat is how they would describe it. Roland wasn't like a rat, though. In his experience, rats weren't as cunning.

'Tell me.' Roland swung the rapier high, directing the mace away from his face. 'Does Fox really have the ruby?'

A grin crossed the surly guard's face. 'What do you think?'

Roland narrowed his eyes. 'Then where is it?'

'Oh, yeah, let me just tell you every little thing.' Kythos brought the mace back and unexpectedly bashed Roland with his shoulder. In this tight space, it was nearly impossible to dodge. The rogue was thrown into a chimney, but managed to keep his footing.

The tubheads were about fifteen feet back, ready for him. He could hear their scuffling boots and the ringing of their awaiting chains and manacles.

'Why do you hate us so much, Kythos?' Roland asked then, his intrigue sparked. 'You just seem so angry all the time.'

'You broke the law.' Kythos slowed. 'I don't need any more reason than that.'

'Oh, come off it,' Roland said. 'The tubheads of this city are corrupt dickheads. They'd sooner help themselves than anyone else. The law? Really? That's the excuse you're going to use?'

'Has it ever occurred to you…' Kythos took a step forward, forcing Roland to take a step back. 'That maybe, just maybe, you have such a low opinion on the guards because the only time you've ever interacted with them was when you were thieving? Hmmm?'

Roland rolled his eyes. 'Has it ever occurred to you that in other cities it's not a regular thing for guards to take bribes?'

'There's nothing wrong with making the best out of—'

Roland jumped before Kythos could finish that thought. The rogue gracefully hopped up to the nearest chimney, reaching about halfway up, before following the momentum of his movement and leaping over Kythos to the chimney across from it.

Kythos scrambled, swinging his mace, but Roland had already gotten high enough. The blunt weapon struck the wall just below Roland's feet and took a sizeable chunk out of it. Dust rattled off the brickwork as Roland scrambled up to the top of the chimney — a difficult task with a stone hand, but he was getting better at it.

'Were you about to say the best out of a bad situation?' Roland asked, breathlessly, from the top of the chimney. 'That's what sucks about you and the rest of this stupid city. It's all ever only about what you can get out of it. Not what's right.'

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'This coming from a murderous pirate who spent his childhood stealing other people's things?' Kythos called up to him. 'Is that who's speaking to me right now?'

'Yeah.' Roland leaned down. 'Except, I never chose to be on the side of good, did I?'

Then, he was off like a shot, faster than a bolt from a taut crossbow string. Roland hopped nimbly from chimney to chimney and searched for a way off the roof. If he could get to the ground, he could escape through the alleys. Up here, he was too on display.

The tubheads fired at him.

Arrows whizzed past his shoulder. Some struck the chimneys he leapt across, others the ground at his feet, but none ever found their mark. The tubheads were finding it difficult to fire upon him through the chimney obstructions.

Roland hopped down off the last chimney in the row and took flight over the rooftops ahead. He scrambled across sloped roofs in an attempt to put as much distance between himself and the tubheads as he possibly could.

Washing lines hung from one chimney to another took up most of the next few rooftops. Families lived below, and he imagined huddled mothers, fathers, and even children, looking up towards the ceiling as the sound of footsteps rained across them. No doubt, they were probably wondering what was going on.

Ahead, he could see a flat rooftop with the most washing yet. Hundreds of bloomers, shirts, trousers, and sheets all hung up with care across a maze of haphazardly taught lines. They took up almost the entire rooftop. An arrow glanced him on the thigh. He ignored it. If Roland could get to that rooftop, he could manoeuvre himself between the washing and simply disappear.

He jumped easily across a three-foot gap and onto the next roof. More arrows. He broke into a roll, finding himself on the flat roof, and rushed towards the crowd of garments. Then, the unthinkable happened. Roland slipped. He went arse over tit and landed with a harsh crack of pain on his back.

It was always the back.

Roland lay there in a state of temporary paralysis. It wasn't broken, only bruised, but it still took a minute to recover. Little did he know, he had just sprung another trap.

Something teased the tips of his fingers. Something slippery. A thick, viscous liquid that now soaked much of his clothing. Grease, he realised with sudden unease. Kythos's grunts had coated the area in a thick layer of grease, and Roland felt a fool for not seeing it.

'I knew you'd slip up eventually.'

Roland looked up to find Kythos' smug face blocking out the sky. Roland grasped for his rapier but couldn't find anything. All Kythos needed to do now was bring the mace down, and it would all be over. Roland wouldn't be able to dodge it, not while lying down in a puddle of slippery grease. It was all too easy.

'Anything to say for yourself?' Kythos asked casually. 'You know, before I wrap you in irons and parade you through the streets?'

Roland's breath had been taken away. He couldn't get out a final quip even if he had wanted to.

Shame.

Kythos raised the mace. This was going to hurt. A lot. The tiefling aimed for Roland's chest. Smart move. It wouldn't kill Roland, but it would probably make breathing difficult for the rest of his life. The rogue closed his eyes and braced himself for the impact. He had no regrets. At least he had given this his best shot…he only hoped, no, prayed, that Holsley had managed to get away and that the bard would have the good sense to abandon him.

'Roland!'

He knew that voice.

Roland snapped his eyes open just in time to see the gnome dive onto Kythos's back. Merhim wrapped his arms tightly around the brute's neck, all while still holding the wriggling sack that contained Love's stupid cat. Kythos dropped his mace and struggled against the gnome's grip, which looked surprisingly strong. Merhim gritted his teeth, scrunching up his face as he held on as tightly as he could.

An opportunity had presented itself.

Roland rolled out of the grease puddle and retrieved his rapier. There were no other tubheads. No, wait, he could see them. They were still hopping across the rooftops, rushing their way, but they wouldn't dare fire their crossbows with Kythos so close. It would take them minutes to reach him.

The rogue stood with the blade's tip sharply pointed towards Kythos. With some determination, Roland approached the old guard.

'Don't kill him!' Merhim shrieked.

'I'm not going to!' Roland barked back. The thought of killing him was the furthest thing from his mind. No, Roland had more pressing questions he needed answers to. Instead of stabbing Kythos, the rogue slashed the tiefling's cheek, leaving a small cut that bled nothing but a single drop. Kythos winced..

'Where's the ruby?' Roland demanded.

Kythos ground his fangs, but something in him forced him to relent. Of course, the tiefling couldn't hazard a guess at what that something was, but Roland knew. It was the rapier. The weapon's magic wrenched the truth from Kythos like squeezing a wet towel dry.

'It's in my pocket,' the guard growled. 'Left side.'

'How did you—' Merhim began.

'The rapier,' Roland cut in. The rogue leaned in towards Kythos, grinning as he spoke his following words. 'It's magical. One cut, just one, can force a person to tell the truth from a straight answer.'

'You've got to be kidding me,' Kythos moaned.

'Nope.' Roland laughed. 'I bet you would have found this useful when you were torturing me. Oh well.'

Kythos doubled down on his efforts to get free. 'I swear. I SWEAR! When I get my hands on you, Roland, you're going to—'

'Oh, whatever.' Roland reached into the brute's pocket, left side, and found a small leather bag. He retrieved it. Inside were half a dozen crimson shards that reflected the light in a pleasing manner — the ruby. Roland felt himself calm a little. In much the same way a drunkard might after taking a sip of the night's first pour of whiskey.

He felt at ease.

The burly guard let out a stream of mostly incoherent obscenities and growls as Roland placed the leather bag within his pocket. His face was going red, or at least a darker shade of blue.

Merhim gripped harder, and the tiefling's breathing slowed. Kythos slowly collapsed onto his knees, swaying like a flag in a lazy wind, eyes drooping, then he finally found his way to the floor. The tiefling flopped to the floor. Merhim released him, and Roland gave the bastard a little nudge. The tubhead was out cold.

'He won't be out for long, eh,' said Merhim. 'We need to get moving.'

'Let's go,' agreed Roland, turning away from the old guard. 'Holsley should already be at the rendezvous point. We can lose those tubheads in the washing li—'

A sudden, fierce pain shot into the back of Roland's leg, and for a moment, he thought an arrow had hit him. He went down to a knee. It hadn't been an arrow. No, it was too blunt a force to be an arrow. It was more like a boot. Then came a shove, knocking him flat on the floor along with a kick that knocked the rapier out of his hand.

The rogue looked up to see Merhim. He struggled in the slippery grease. The gnome picked up the rapier and returned with the point squared just under Roland's chin. The rogue narrowed his eyes and sneered at the gnome. Nearby, the cat in the bag thrashed against the sack.

'You and I need to have a few words, eh.'

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