D&D 06-Treachery's Wake

by T. H. Lain

  "Welcome to your new home," a guard said as he guided the company into the cell. "It's not much, but you'll get used to it." He chuckled. "Most of 'em do, eventually." He removed the rags that were tied around Vadania's and Mialee's heads. "You're free to try your magic," he said as stuffed the rags into a pocket in the front of his uniform, "but you won't get too far with it here, what with the wards and all."

  He looked Krusk up and down but left his gag in place. The jailer shut the cell door, sealing any hope of escape with a long steel key.

  "Bah," Krusk sputtered as Mialee untied his gag and tossed the rag aside. "Damn those thieves! I said from the start they were not to be trusted."

  "We don't know who is behind this," Vadania said, rubbing her wrists. "I'm not going to jump to conclusions. Your stunt at the inn could have gotten us all killed."

  Krusk growled, "Whatever you decide, it won't get us out of here. Not with the city's officials giving our arrest their backing." He spat. "I don't know who is worse, the thieves or the politicians."

  He looked around the cell. Deep scratches marked one of the walls, a series of short lines running in parallel across its length. He tried to count the marks but quickly lost track. He wasn't sure if they were meant to mark days, weeks, or months, but he was determined that, one way or another, he would not spend any length of time behind bars.

  "At least Malthooz and Lidda escaped," Mialee said hopefully. "We'll get out of this yet. After all, we're innocent."

  Laughter rang up and down the row of cells, and the barbarian joined it.

  "Who are you trying to convince, wizard?"

  Krusk wasn't sure which was funnier, leaving his life in the hands of his incompetent "brother" Malthooz or placing his trust in the rogue. He detested both options.

  Malthooz hurried down the street behind Lidda. They were moving toward the docks. He had no idea where she was going or what the rogue had in mind. His own mind was racing too quickly for him to reason out anything useful.

  They hustled on for what seemed to be hours. Up and down the streets of Newcoast they skulked, keeping an eye out for members of the city guard, trying not to draw attention to themselves while ducking into alleys and doorways at the slightest hint of pursuit. At this point, anyone and everyone that Malthooz trusted was behind bars. Everyone but Lidda, he reminded himself. And how much did he really know about her?

  His thoughts drifted to the warmth and camaraderie he'd felt in his own village. All that day he missed it terribly and berated himself for ever leaving. The times he spent seated around a fire listening to the elders telling stories, recounting tales of brave heroes who'd been dead for generations, tales of an all but forgotten age—nothing in the world seemed so appealing to him. He shook his head. Those heroic times were long past, and he was a long way from home. If he held any hope of helping his friends he would have to abandon such romantic notions and deal only with reality.

  They made their way slowly along the waterfront, passing the rows of wharves that ran the length of the city's bay. Lidda moved as though she knew what she was looking for. Malthooz had a hard time keeping up, he was hungry and cold, and he wasn't sure how the halfling would react to a question even if he could get her to slow down long enough for him to ask something.

  Lidda turned toward the edge of the pier. She looked down for a second then dropped over the side. Malthooz ran to the edge and peered over.

  The rogue stood on a narrow dock that was sunken between two larger piers. The platform floated on the surface of the bay, anchored in place by a long row of pilings. A ladder ran from the side of the wharf at Malthooz's feet to the tarred planks below. Lidda had obviously taken a quicker way down.

  Malthooz climbed deliberately down the ladder, trying to look nonchalant. Lidda crouched amidst a pile of crates and netting. Malthooz dropped down next to her, his heart pounding. He looked around for signs of the city guard, but no one was in sight. A few squat rowboats bobbed gently along the length of the dock. Above him, Malthooz heard the sounds of men unloading the ships that towered on either side of their hiding spot.

  "I've got to go to the guild," Lidda said.

  Malthooz shook his head slowly, collecting his thoughts. He wasn't sure that was a good idea. Someone had set them up, and the guild was the prime contender for lead suspect. He didn't want to question Lidda's loyalty to himself and the others, but he knew how much she wanted the guild's favor and thought that her desire might be clouding her judgment.

  Lidda obviously saw his hesitation.

  "I know that the gnolls are responsible for the wizard's death," she explained. "I think that Wotherwill wasn't being straight with us."

  Malthooz listened but didn't respond. Lidda's theory could make sense, if the gnolls had known about the treasure and set out to steal it for reasons that weren't clear. He'd seen the hunger in the old mans eyes during their first meeting and knew how well the wizard had paid them for recovering and delivering the staff. Clearly it was very valuable, but Lidda's theory relied on many "ifs." If the murder and theft had been engineerd by the thieves guild, all the pieces fell into place much more readily.

  "Remember, Wotherwill said the thing attracted evil," Lidda argued, "and that gnoll was a spellcaster, too. I think the wizard stole the staff from it in the first place and the gnoll was just stealing it back. Or maybe it was working for another owner."

  Malthooz stopped shaking his head, but he still wasn't convinced.

  "If you have any better ideas, speak up, Malthooz," spat Lidda. "I know what you're thinking. You don't know whether you can trust me. If the guild was behind all this, then I might be part of it."

  Malthooz gulped. The accusation sounded so harsh coming from her.

  "If you want to see the others again, we're going to have to work fast, and we're going to have to work together. Once the system in this town gets hold of them, they'll either be put to death or left to rot."

  Lidda paused, looking for some sign of agreement from the half-orc, but he only sat silently, head bowed.

  "Flint's our only option, whether you trust her or not. She trusted me with this job," the rogue pleaded. "I think she'll help."

  Malthooz stirred. "All right," he responded, nodding slowly. "I can agree with you that there doesn't seem to be any other way. I think it's a big gamble, though."

  Lidda grinned.

  "But," Malthooz continued, "I'm not going with you."

  Lidda tried to object but the half-orc ignored her. He was stalling, trying to work things out in his mind, piecing together the events of the past few hours.

  "Look at it this way," he said. "It will be safer for you if you approach the guild alone, and I'll feel better about it. If the situation is the way you think it is, then everything will be fine and it won't matter if I'm with you or waiting somewhere else, but if you're wrong, or even if something happens to you, I'll still be on the loose. I know it's a long shot, but there's always a chance I might come up with a plan on my own."

  "I think you're being foolish," she said, "but you're probably right that they wouldn't let me through the back door with you in tow."

  The rogue stood up, looking quickly in all directions before stepping out from the jumble of crates where they were hiding.

  She paused for a moment and said, "There's an inn close by the guild. It's called the Lock and Keel. We passed it about an hour ago. There's a pair of oars hanging over the door. Do you remember it?"

  "I think I can find it."

  Lidda smiled and said, "Good. Wait for me there. I don't know how long this will take."

  The rogue turned and hustled down the dock. She climbed the ladder two rungs at a time. Seconds later she was gone. Malthooz settled back against a crate. He took a deep breath and looked at the sky. The sun passed behind the white cloth of a sail. By the time it hit the line of hills on the far side of the harbor, he'd have his answer, the half-orc thought.

  Moments later, he was on his feet. He wasn't sure what compell
ed him or what he hoped to find as he climbed the ladder and stepped onto the street. The cleric had called it faith. He was acting on no more than a hunch, he knew, but at least his intuition hadn't recently been proven to be riddled with flaws. It was as good a place to put his trust as any other, Malthooz thought as he set out for the Bung and Blade.

  He moved purposefully along the waterfront, believing that he would attract less attention if he looked as if he knew where he was going. At the same time, he kept an eye out for the city watch. Sailors and stevedores passed him by without a glance as he made his way to the nearest alley. Malthooz had no clear idea how cities of this size functioned. It seemed amazing that anyone could keep track of so much activity, let alone keep tabs on everyone or find a particular person. He moved along quiet, narrow, shadowed streets as much as possible, and joined in jostling crowds where necessary. Half-orcs were not that common in Newcoast. He paused a few times to hide amidst the rubbish and barrels crammed into the narrow spaces between buildings.

  When at last he rounded the corner of a narrow lane that ran behind the Bung and Blade, the breath caught in his throat and he jumped back into the shadows.

  As he'd feared, the inn was being watched. A member of the city guard stood at each end of the alley, and two more stood near the front entrance. That left little hope that he could sneak into the place, though the thought of his pack of books lying in the room upstairs made him long to try. The sleepy, bored look of the guards was almost enough to make him believe he could do it. One of them leaned against the building grooming his fingernails with a short knife while two others tossed a cupful of dice beneath the front window of the common room.

  The official presence didn't seem to be frightening off any customers. Malthooz watched a knot of patrons make their way through the front door. Then again, from what hed tasted of this city, murder and thievery were everyday occurrences.

  "Damn," he cursed softly.

  At least he knew for a fact that he and Lidda were still wanted, that even in a city this size, the guard still held hope of finding them. Malthooz turned to go, but stopped. Another figure stood in the shadows near the front of the pub. A dark cowl covered the person's head and hid his face. He appeared to be thin and of average height, dressed in a plain, dark cloak. One of the dice-casting guards stood up and approached the man. Malthooz saw the guard surreptitiously take something from the mysterious figure and stuff it in his pocket. The figure then stepped from the shadow and slipped down the road, disappearing from the half-orcs sight around the nearest corner.

  Malthooz shook his head. His imagination would get the best of him if he allowed himself to see conspiracy in every transaction. He turned to go. If even the city guards were corrupt in Newcoast, he thought, then he still had a lot to learn about cities.

  "I am as surprised and shocked over the wizard's sudden death as you are," Eva Flint said, offering Lidda a seat. "If the city hadn't come sniffing around the guild for clues Id have been content to let your friends rot in a cell, convinced that you killed him in order to seize the staff for yourselves. As it is now, I'm told that I am a prime suspect."

  She poured herself a glass of wine from the carafe on her desk and offered one to Lidda.

  "I can't afford to have anyone breathing down my neck. It's bad for business. I do have certain privileges in this city." She rolled the word privileges luxuriously around her tongue. "Unfortunately, murder isn't one of them. Besides," she said grinning, "I'd hate to see a sister go down."

  "That's' not a very reassuring tone," Lidda said. "If we wanted the staff, we never would have come back with it."

  The guild master laughed.

  "Don't misunderstand me," she said, raising her hand. "It is still in my interest to help you. It's just gotten more complicated." She gave Lidda a sly wink. "I need a favor."

  Lidda nodded and said, "The gnolls."

  Eva refilled her glass.

  "No," she said, "although I think the wizard played us both for saps on that score."

  "So what do you need me to do?"

  "I need you to leave the city," she said.

  "That's all?"

  "That, and you'll likely not want to show your faces in these parts for quite some time, if ever."

  "Because of the murder," Lidda said.

  Flint nodded and replied, "I can help you get your friends out of the dungeon, but then I need you to disappear. That will cement your guilt in the eyes of the magistrates. You get your friends back, and I get the city off my back and my name cleared in this business."

  She motioned toward the door at the side of her chamber and the doorman entered.

  "This is Kargle," she told Lidda. "I believe you've met before. He's going to help you."

  Lidda studied the man, for the first time in adequate light. His body was wrapped in a tight-fitting suit of supple leather armor that covered him completely, from his neck to his ankles and from his shoulders to his wrists. Over this, he wore a plain, gray cloak. His eyes were deep brown and set far back in his skull, accenting his hollow cheeks. He looked to be middle aged, though with the physical conditioning of a much younger man. A short sword was strapped to his side, but Lidda was certain that other weapons were hidden in his armor and the folds of his cloak. He bowed to the rogue and offered his hand.

  "Will be a pleasure to work with you, m'lady."

  Lidda blushed in spite of herself, hearing Kargle refer to her as he did the guild master.

  "While I hold the favor of many in positions of power," Flint said, moving around her desk, "petty officials can be boringly obtuse when they decide to do things by the book. I've done what I can from a distance, but you're still going to need a little help setting your friends free."

  The poor fool, the guild master thought, as Kargle closed the door behind Lidda and himself. That mattered little to her now, though. Even if she had grown to like the halfling's style, the mayor required something to show for the wizard's death.

  Yauktul entered the chamber and moved to her side.

  "Ah, my pet," she said, rubbing the commander's head. "You've done well this time."

  She strode to the wall and picked up the staff from the shelf where it lay. The gnoll followed her every movement with its eyes, its tongue hanging from the side of its mouth. The guild master touched the tip of the artifact to the creature's hands and its eyes rolled back.

  "Yes," Flint said, "you have done well, but there is one more thing that you must do."

  She pulled the staff away. Yauktul whimpered and yelped as the thing slipped from his touch. He kneeled before Flint and pawed at her boots.

  "Get up," the guild master said, kicking at Yauktul's claws.

  The guild master walked to her desk and snatched up her wine glass. Things were going to work out fine, she thought. All of her problems would soon be out of her hair. The mayor would have bodies to show the city council, and she would have the staff free and clear.

  There was a knock on the wall and four men entered Flint's room through a concealed door behind her desk.

  The assassins assembled themselves in front of the guild master. They were lean and wiry like the doorman, but their movements evidenced a suppleness and level of training that few could approach.

  Skintight black suits wrapped each of the men, showing the deep ripples of muscle on their chests. They bowed to the guild master as she moved down the line.

  None of the men betrayed any emotion in his eyes. Flint grabbed one of them by the chin and gazed into the grim, black orbs. She shuddered minutely. Where even the most hardened of criminals leaked at least a hint of humanity in their gaze, here Flint saw a pit of unfeeling nothingness.

  "And you," she said, "are my insurance."

  Lidda was taking a long time in returning. Malthooz had been hiding near the inn for almost two hours by the time he finally saw her pass under the torchlight of the street lamp. Kargle rounded the corner behind the halfling. Malthooz didn't like it already. There was something
odd about the man, even aside from his unexpected presence with the rogue. Maybe it was just knowing that he was from the guild that made the half-orc suspicious.

  He watched them approach. The man's body seemed to melt into the shadows as he moved. His feet made no sound on the cobbles. Malthooz clenched his fists.

  "W-who is this?" he stuttered.

  He didn't really know what he was expecting from the rogue's trip to the guild. He hadn't worked his way through that part. The situation seemed so hopeless that he hadn't wanted to think about the details. Part of him was hoping that she'd just have the others with her when she came back. He realized how silly that was.

  "What a welcome," Lidda said sarcastically. "The wizard is dead. The magic staff is gone. Someone set us up. Give me some credit, Malthooz. Flint offered to help us rescue our friends, and unless you come up with a better plan, I think that you need to trust her."

  Malthooz looked at the man.

  "And that's what you're for, to help us?" he asked.

  "You could say that," the man said, stepping forward. "While the guild has reached a certain level of understanding with the city's officials regarding crime, some things are still considered off limits. For instance," he smiled, "killing innocent wizards. While m'lady Flint is given certain protections from the law, she is not above punishment. My name is Kargle."

  Kargle offered Malthooz his hand. The half-orc considered what he was hearing. It wasn't completely implausible. He took Kargle's hand and shook it limply. The maris grip was tremendous.

  "What of the others?" Malthooz asked.

  "Flint's made arrangements for a jail break," Lidda said, "and for our safe passage from the city. It's not ideal, but we have few other options."

  It didn't sound good to the half-orc, but the rogue was right. Leaving the city would be like an admission of guilt, but he had no desire to stay longer in Newcoast anyway. What other choice did he have? He was tired of letting the situation and his own helplessness make his decisions for him.