July 13th
It was almost nothing, the small clunk of the wooden ball into the copper cup, but it was enough. Nial woke instantly. His hand slowly felt the small, square table with the six brass cups built into the outer edge. The ball was in the southmost cup. They were coming in the back door then. Nial almost smiled, then grimaced instead when the next ball fell. He reached around again and found a ball in the cup in the same south facing table end; that was the back wall with the second story window. Another ball clunked into a cup, this time along the north facing side of the table. They were at the front door as well. Nial wasted no more time thinking about it. A quick grab and toss of a oil soaked rag into a pot of burning embers provided sudden light. Hammerhand was already moving, half dressed and reaching for weapons. Nial did the same, confident that the troll would be able to follow the same actions they had practiced in the last day.

There was a sudden thud, and a scream of pain. Nial did smile this time. His specialty as an architect had been designing and building nasty tricks and traps into a variety of homes and larger structures. The unknown assailants were finding that out now. Nial was ready to go, and a glance at Hammerhand revealed him to be ready as well. He opened the closet, kicked hard at the back wall. It popped loose and fell backwards into darkness, whistling a bit on the way down until slamming into the ground one story below. The new rope was hanging as they had left it yesterday; the older rope, thick enough to support a man, but not sufficient to hold a troll's weight, had been replaced. Nial grabbed the rope, and swung out over the pit. He slid quickly and quietly down to the bottom. Again, he kicked, this time at the wall in front of him. This one popped open on hinges, a brittle cracking sound coming from the plaster and wood on the other side that disguised the secret door as the back of a small toolshed on the side of the house. He stepped forward into the toolshed, jerking hard on the rope. Hammerhand, alerted by the signal, slid down behind him.

Hammerhand exited the toolshed first. As he opened the door and slipped through, Nial grabbed a small handle connected to a thin wire and jerked hard. There was a sudden flare of light from up the shaft. Nial new it was caused by the stopper at the bottom of the oil barrel near the bedroom candle being tugged loose. The bedroom door should hide the flames from the assailants until too late. They would kick in the door to be engulfed in flames as the house burned to the ground. Nial took a few seconds to curse as his largest possession went up in smoke, but knew there was no choice. The falling balls had warned of too many attackers to hope to fight. Nial followed Hammerhand out the door.

The side alley along the side of the house ran north and south. They would have to run by the rear or front, past the directions from which the attackers were entering. Nial quickly decided. The attackers in the front were probably there to catch any fleeing victims as they ran for the obvious door. The ones in the rear were actually the penetrators, and thus with any luck might be inside the house already.

Nial motioned, and Hammerhand took the front. They ran, abandoning stealth for speed. Nial looked to the side as they cleared the corner of the house. It was dark, but not dark enough to hide more motion than Nial expected. There must have been at least a half dozen attackers. Suddenly, flame exploded out of the second story window. Nial saw a smoking body flung backwards by the blast, obviously caught in the middle of entering the window. In the suddenly bright light, Nial also made out a body beneath the window, devoid of hands. That must have been the one that caught Nial's window trap, a simple wieghted guillotine. What was unexpected was the knife sticking out of the man's eye. These people, whoever they were, clearly did not hold their friends - or their own - lives in very high regard. Suddenly, one of the men noticed them and hissed a warning. Nial and Hammerhand did not even think of fighting. There were too many of them. They ran instead, weaving slightly as the whirr of throwing knives filled the air. Fortunately, these people were not as experienced at knife throwing, or the explosion and unexpectedness of their appearance had momentarily thrown them, and the knives flew harmlessly by.

Down a back alley, a twist to the right through an almost invisible opening, running down a small, cobblestone path. The light footed clatter of the people following them faded a bit. A few more twists and turns, and it was gone altogether. Nial thanked the ghods that they had practiced this route before; without the benefit of a pre planned escape route, Hammerhand's steady but slow pace would never have gotten them away from the attackers. He slowed down, turned back to Hammerhand, who had fallen a bit behind.

Sudden pain exploded in his kneecap. Nial reached down in disbelief, feeling the hilt of the dagger protruding from his leg. He fell to one knee as the leg buckled beneath him. A fortunate maneuver, as a shortsword cut through the air his head had been occupying. The man in the dark cloak brought the sword back for another slash, while Nial attempted to dodge. His leg failed him, and he felt the burning steel cut deeply into his abdomen. The man sneered, and then his head exploded in bloody froth as Hammerhand finally arrived swinging his mace. Nial thought deliriously as blackness swept in and out in waves. This man had to have been waiting for them. Which meant that they knew his escape route - implying some very powerful magical capability - or they had posted men along most of the obvious paths away from the house, "just in case". That would take at least ten or twenty men. What group was so intent on the capture of this dagger that they could mount an attack in the city of twenty or thirty people? That was the size of the entire Graffon hold warden force! Nial's thoughts on the subject came to a sudden end as Hammerhand picked him up. The pain welled up until it threatened to overwhelm him. He had time for a few simple words. "Brean... take me to Brean's Curio shop, Hammer-hand". The darkness that followed was a welcome relief.

Hammerhand tried to stop the flow of blood from his friend's wounds. Nial was in a very bad way. The troll thought for a moment, then recalled Nial's description of the man Brean and his shop. It was not too far from here. And a good thing, since Nial would not make it far in his condition, and there was no time to find a healer. Hammer-hand headed down an alley that lead in the correct direction. He stumbled over some trash, soft and yielding but surprisingly solid for alleyway litter. Hammerhand glanced down at it and froze. It was another one of the cloaked strangers, hand in a death grip around the stock of a loaded crossbow. His throat had been neatly slashed open.