D&D 06-Treachery's Wake

by T. H. Lain

  Wotherwill reached into his tunic and retrieved a slender, silver chain. Dangling from its end was a small, obsidian trinket in the shape of a dragon taking flight. He set the necklace on the table.

  Mialee grabbed the thing.

  "Strangest key I've ever seen," she said, turning the figurine over in her hand.

  "It will open the box that holds the staff," Wotherwill said. "Nothing else in existence will. Its creation was one of the baron's final acts. Whether he hoped to keep the staff from ever doing harm again, or suffered delusions of somehow using it after death, we will never know. His journal gave no clue, but it did lead me to the key."

  "And you trust it to us?" Krusk asked, scowling.

  "It stays with me, half-orc. Call it insurance against another theft. Or against your failure."

  "Why not go yourself?" Lidda asked. "You seem capable enough. Surely if you plan on using the staff you have the magic necessary to see yourself safely to the wreck and back."

  "You flatter me, thief, but age is quickly catching up with me. I'd rather save myself for study. That's my interest. I am not so vain as to think that I could use the staff myself."

  Wotherwill finished his tea and rose from the table. He took the dragon key and moved to a cupboard on the wall, where he dropped the key into a small chest on the shelf and closed the lid.

  "If you return the staff to me, you will be well rewarded for your efforts."

  "Now you talk sense," Krusk said, "though I still don't like the sound of this. Why is the thieves guild involved?"

  "I'll not risk the task to just any band of adventurers, barbarian. You might understand why I want to keep word of the job quiet. Working with the guild is as strong an assurance of silence as I can get."

  Krusk looked around the table. Lidda's face was impossible to read. He knew that she was eager to earn the favor of a guild. He couldn't blame her, but he knew where she stood as a result of her enthusiasm. Malthooz stared at the rows of books on the wall. Vadania, at least, seemed to share his skepticism.

  "And you only hope to study?" she asked.

  "The item would be discovered eventually. Better that it rest in the hands of one who understands its power than fall into the wrong ones. You of all people should know this, druid."

  "What's the guild's cut," Lidda asked, running her fingers along a groove in the tabletop.

  "Enough to keep hush," Wotherwill replied. "Yours is enough to ensure that I can find others if you don't want the work." He paused, then added almost as an afterthought, "Though you probably know too much already."

  Krusk rose and reached for the handle of his axe.

  Wotherwill stepped away from the cupboard, one hand sligthly raised.

  "You don't want to go there, friend" he said.

  Lidda rose from the table, glaring at Krusk, and said, "We'll take the job."

  Krusk shook his head in resignation.

  Wotherwill nodded.

  "I thought that you would," he said.

  The sun was full in the sky by the time the companions collected their gear and said their parting words to the old wizard. The warmth of the sun and the clear blue sky lifted the oppressive feeling of the previous days' storm from the air. They all welcomed the change in weather. Traveling through the snow was one thing, traveling under the specter of a blizzard was quite another.

  Deepwood. The name spoke of dark and untold danger. While the edges of the forest provided ample wood for the region's hearths and a bounty of wild game for the hunter, its farther reaches were seen only by the adventurous few. Most travelers gladly accepted the extra days needed to skirt the forest to the north or south. Those for whom time was more pressing recognized the risk as a necessary one. Many did survive their journey through the woods and they bore the scars to prove it. Trolls and brigands were the forest's only true residents.

  Vadania took her position at the front of the group. The half-orcs fell in a few steps behind her. Krusk abandoned his large traveling backpack for a smaller shoulder pack. He kept his greataxe slung to his hip, within easy reach. Malthooz still carried his full regimen of books.

  Lidda padded along a few dozen yards behind the main group, keeping watch over their backs to ensure they were not taken unawares from behind. Though each of the company kept his weapons within easy reach, if Malthooz's walking staff could be considered such, Lidda's drawn and loaded crossbow was the only one at the ready.

  As morning wore into midday, the forest closed in, over, and around them. Arched branches formed a kind of tunnel above the path they traveled, keeping out all but a few rays of sunshine. Thick underbrush crowded the trunks of the trees, which became larger the farther they pressed into the forest.

  Lidda watched Malthooz and Krusk exchange a few words. She couldn't hear what they said, but Krusk's tone was enough to let her know that the words weren't pleasant. She moved past the elves and tapped Krusk on the shoulder.

  "Why don't you take rear guard for a while?"

  Krusk started to protest, but Lidda's look stopped him. He mumbled under his breath and fell to the rear of the group.

  "I don't know what his problem is," she said to Malthooz, shaking her head, "but it's not you. He's usually like this."

  "He thinks I should never have come looking for him," Malthooz said, "and I suspect he's right."

  "No one ever accused him of not being stubborn," Lidda chuckled. "Maybe you should lay off him for a while."

  They came upon a clearing late in the day and where they decided to pass the night. Malthooz dropped his pack, sat down on a tangle of roots, and began tugging a boot from his foot. By the time he had the second one off, the others were busy preparing a camp.

  From his seat at the edge of the camp, he watched the company performing like a well-scripted play. Vadania left to hunt for game while Mialee and Lidda gathered wood for a fire. Krusk huddled over a pile of dry moss, flicking sparks from his flint and steel. Malthooz flexed his aching toes self-consciously.

  He pulled his boots back on.

  "What can I do?" he asked.

  Mialee dropped an armful of wood into a growing pile.

  "There're game paths all over these woods," she said, tossing a water skin to the half-orc. "There must be a stream or pool around somewhere nearby."

  Malthooz nearly fell into the pool before he realized it was there. He'd been wandering, lost in his thoughts. He had no idea how far he'd come from the camp, though the fading light and deepening shadows told him it had been some time. He knelt at the edge of the pond and plunged the empty skin into the water.

  As bubbles from the water skin roiled the still, warm water, Malthooz glanced around, paying attention to his surroundings for the first time since leaving the camp. A wall of rock bordered the pool on the far side. A fissure near the center looked like the opening to a cave. The snows, so deep near the city, hadn't fallen as heavily that far into the forest. Only a smattering of white patches showed on the carpet of pine needles. Still, the air was cold, and getting colder as the light faded.

  But the water in the pond felt warm, Malthooz realized with a jolt, when it should be icy cold.

  A gurgling screech from inside the wall nearly made Malthooz lose his grip on the water skin. A spray of steam followed the shriek. Seconds later, the strangest creature Malthooz had ever seen flew from the mouth of the cave. It was small, just a few feet tall, he estimated, skinny as a rail, and covered in glistening scales.

  The creature tumbled through the air and hit the water in front of Malthooz with a tremendous splash. The half-orc scrambled back from the water's edge, leaving the water skin bobbing in the pond. His foot caught on an exposed root and he flopped clumsily onto his back.

  The creature's eyes emerged from the pool—huge, black orbs dripping water. Translucent eyelids blinked away some of the moisture. A frail hand snaked out and tossed the water skin at Malthooz's feet. The arm was covered with folds of blue-green skin that looked like seaweed. Water oozed from the creat
ure's scales.

  "This isn't mine, so it must be yours," it said with a burbling voice like gushing water. "Keep your trash out of my pond. Now I've got to defend my home."

  With that, it disappeared beneath the water. Malthooz watched the creature's shadowy form swim rapidly back into the cave.

  Within moments, a thick, black stink floated from the cave mouth, assailing Malthooz's nostrils and causing him to wretch. A second creature, even more bizarre than the first, drifted from the cave enveloped in a cloud of steam. It landed with a soft plop on the bank of the pool next to the half-orc.

  The cloud of vapor rising from the creature obscured its body. Steaming water dripped from its fingers and Malthooz felt heat radiating from it. Its face was dour, a mood accented by the creature's sharp, angular features. It spoke to Malthooz with a voice of vapor that was as easy to see as it was to hear, like the sound of a freshly forged blade being plunged into an ice bath for tempering.

  "You'd best leave now," it said. The heat of the creature's words caused Malthooz to take a step back. "This issue is not your concern."

  The half-orc nodded, unable to speak.

  "Leave now!" the creature emphasized. The air temperature around it rose noticeably and steam percolated from its pores. It raised a wispy arm as if to strike. "This is my pond and you are not welcome!"

  Further speech was cut short by a loud, squishing sound. The creature and its vapor cloud reeled back as a colorful blob of ichor slammed into the side of its head.

  Steam poured in a torrent from the creature's nostrils and ears as it turned to face the fish-eyed creature whose head bobbed up and down near the center of the pool. Raising its smoking arms toward the sky, the steam-thing conjured a small cloud of wisps that transformed into a hail of boiling rain. Malthooz scrabbled across the frozen dirt to get away. Sharp points of pain pierced his back as droplets of superheated water pelted him. He howled as the water raised welts along his forearms and the backs of his legs. He tried covering himself with leaves and dirt but could not stop the searing rain.

  As suddenly as it began, the torrent stopped. The creature was spent and wheezing, its breath a raspy gurgle of mist.

  The fish-eyed creature, apparently unharmed, ducked beneath the surface of the pool.

  Vadania was having little luck with her hunt. She knew the forest was full of smaller creatures of all sorts—she saw signs of them all around—but she was unable to locate any. Perhaps something kept them away. She turned back toward camp, resigning herself to a meal of dried rations, when she heard Malthooz's howl.

  She found the pool quickly enough. Drawing her scimitar, Vadania stepped into the clearing around the pool and assessed the situation. The half-orc was on the ground near the edge of the pool. A creature—a steam mephit—stood near the fallen half-orc. Another, a water mephit, floated near the center of the pond.

  The druid extended her free hand toward the steam mephit. Bright yellow-blue flame sprang forth from her upturned palm. The fire crackled with magical intensity as she advanced on the mephit, startling the creature as it caught sight of her in the corner of its eye. Scalding water dripped from the creature's jowls as it backed away from the approaching druid. The steam mephit sprayed torrid mist as it inched away from the advancing elf.

  "No haste, elf, it is a misunderstanding," the mephit said as it raised its arms in surrender.

  Vadania halted as another ball of ichor smacked the steam mephit in the back of the head. Malthooz grabbed his staff and was on his feet in an instant. He swung the pole in a wide arc that caught the creature in the midsection, doubling it over. Vadania snapped her wrist, sending the flame from her hand to the creature. It hit the mephit's head with a hiss.

  The mephit enveloped itself in a cloud of steam and bolted for the pool. The water mephit's laughter sent a ring of waves throughout the pond before it ducked under the surface and disappeared.

  Vadania rushed to Malthooz's side, catching him as the pain of his burns overtook him and he crumpled to his knees.

  A trail of fog drifted from the surface of the water, marking the steam mephit's retreat.

  Vadania helped Malthooz to his feet.

  "We need to move," she said. "This is no place to linger."

  They started back to camp, Malthooz supporting himself on the druid's shoulder, and the noise of the quarreling mephits was soon lost in the distance.

  It was replaced by another, more ominous sound.

  They shuffled through the forest as fast as Malthooz's wounds would allow. Vadania held an arm under the half-orc's shoulder, letting him rest some of his weight on her. The burns on his skin looked to be superficial, but the druid knew that they were probably agonizing to bear and that they were made more so by each step he took. She didn't have time to stop and administer a healing spell.

  From somewhere behind her, Vadania heard the underbrush being trampled aside. Whatever was after them was moving through the forest with abandon. She heard branches snapping and could just make out the rhythmic booming of massive footsteps. Whatever she heard, the druid realized it must be huge, considered the spacing between its thumping footsteps. She pushed Malthooz harder as she sensed the sounds gaining on them. She could almost feel the monster's breath on the back of her neck. Vadania glanced back over her shoulder but saw no sign of any pursuer. Twigs brushed her face as they fled, leaving fine traces of blood on her cheeks. She urged Malthooz on, alternately dragging and pushing him. The half-orc's eyes were wide with fear.

  Vadania knew the general direction of the camp, but not precisely how far she'd come. Malthooz's call had set her in motion and she'd been too intent on finding the half-orc to notice the distance she'd covered reaching the pool. Her legs burned as she drove them for all their worth.

  In the distance, Vadania saw a flicker of fire. She headed straight for the light, dragging the half-orc beside her. Malthooz looked as if he was near the point of passing out. All color was drained from his cheeks and his breath came in ragged gasps. The druid shouted as they neared the circle of the camp, though she was certain the others must have heard the sounds of their crashing approach.

  Mialee rushed to Vadania's side as the fleeing pair stumbled into the clearing. She grabbed Malthooz from the druid's grasp and tried ineffectually to support his bulk, but they both spun into the brush on the far side of the camp and collapsed in a tangle of branches.

  Krusk was on his feet, moving to the edge of the firelight as the grayish mass of a troll burst through the underbrush on the heels of the druid. He extended his axe in front of himself as the creature rolled over him. One enormous arm swept across the barbarian's side as the troll lumbered past, the knuckles of its other hand dragging along the ground. Krusk doubled over from the impact of the monster's fist slamming into his side and he reeled into the trees.

  Lidda grabbed a burning branch from the fire and shoved it into Vadania's hand.

  "Take this," she said. "They hate it."

  The troll stopped at the sight of the flames and batted at the druid with two bulky hands as it tried to get at her. It moved its misshapen and hunched body awkwardly. Vadania knew that its mortal fear of fire would only discourage the beast for a short time. She held the makeshift torch in front of herself, waving it in the troll's face. The sputtering tip of the branch highlighted the creature's rubbery skin and a putrid, green mass of writhing flesh atop its head. It looked more like folds of leather cord than hair. A long bunch of the stuff dangled in front of the creature's mouth, a cruel approximation of a nose. Stubs of teeth lined it's jaw, worn smooth from gnawing through the bones of its prey, and yellow, syrupy saliva dripped from its chin.

  The troll sprang. Vadania dodged to the side and it flew past her. The monster landed on the far side of the camp and spun around. Vadania's shoulders heaved as she tried to catch her breath. Before she could blink, the thing was coming back at her. It covered the ground between them in seconds, moving with a sudden grace that belied its clumsy appearance and it
s earlier attacks. She dived aside again as the thing came at her, swinging massive, clawed fists.

  Krusk used the handle of his weapon to lever himself onto his feet. A quick shake cleared his head and he charged the beast, a yell blasting from his throat. His axe slashed down, severing one of the troll's arms below the elbow. The limb spun to the dirt, but it did not simply lie there. The detached claw scrabbled through the damp leaves of the forest floor, scooting along the ground in a wide arc. The troll swatted Krusk aside and grabbed for its severed body part. The beast held the wriggling limb up to the stump at its elbow. Green blood dripping from the end of the wounded arm bubbled as the missing part touched it. With a sickening, squishing sound, the two halves fused together.

  "How can we fight such a being?" Vadania yelled as she rolled to her feet.

  She cast the torch aside and drew her scimitar, stepping around to the far side of the fire, keeping the flames between herself and the troll. She wished that she hadn't wasted her own fire spell on the mephit.

  Mialee came to the druid's side waving a torch in one hand and sending a barrage of magic missiles into the troll from the tip of the other. The wizard's bolts sizzled through the tough skin of the troll's side.

  "We'll never outrun the thing," Mialee gasped.

  She whipped the flaming branch around and caught the monster in its side, just below the blackened holes where her magic struck.

  The troll lashed out at Mialee with its clublike hands and claws, grabbing at her neck. Mialee ducked under the troll's swing, but saw the thick, razor-sharp nails sail over her head and shred the bark of a nearby tree.

  Lidda scampered nimbly between the legs of the troll, hacking at its ankles as she passed. The size of her opponent dwarfed the halfling, making her appear no more than a child. A line of blood marked her weapon's path across the monster's stringy calf.

  The four of them surrounded the thing, hacking with a renewed fury, trying to gain an advantage against flesh whose wounds healed before their eyes.