Treachery's wake dad-6

by T. H. Lain

  They found Malthooz and the druid waiting quietly in the doorway. Mialee was relieved to see that they had not been attacked or disturbed by any other assailants. Her relief faded as she stepped into the doorway, and disappeared entirely when she saw the grim look on Vadania's face.

  "It is not good," the druid said as the three approached.

  Malthooz lay against the door. His eyes were closed. A ragged bandage torn from the druid's cloak was wrapped around his chest. The bolt, still shiny with the half-orc's blood, lay on the cobblestones a few feet away. Mialee saw the shallow rise and fall of Malthooz's ribs. At least he's still alive, she thought. He stirred as they drew close.

  "I've done all I can for him," Vadania said. "Without more magic, I can offer him little. My herbs can only do so much."

  Malthooz smiled at the sight of his friends. His mouth moved, but his breath was too shallow to actually speak. He reached for the symbol of Pelor on his chest and raised it shakily. He wanted to remove it, but his head was against the wall. Krusk took his hand and cradled Malthooz's head away from the wall with his other arm, then he lifted the cord that held the holy symbol over his friend's head and handed it to him. Malthooz smiled.

  "Thank you," he mouthed, nodding at Krusk's open hand.

  Malthooz fingered the disk for a moment, then offered the symbol to Krusk.

  "Take it," Vadania said when Krusk hesitated.

  The barbarian took the thing from Malthooz's hand and placed it around his own neck. Malthooz smiled broadly.

  Eva Flint rounded the corner of the building and stepped into the street. She fell back immediately into the shadow, startled at the sight that befell her. Her assassins lay in broken heaps on the slush-covered cobblestones, their weapons scattered amidst the red snow. The adventurers were again huddled in the doorway where the gnolls had penned them with their crossbows.

  She cursed them, thinking about how deep a hole she'd dug herself into. Her judgment of her foes could not have been more wrong. She spat. There were four more bodies to explain, on top of Wotherwill's and likely a handful of jailhouse guards. The guild master wasn't sure that the favors she was owed would cover a scandal so big. The mayor might even decide that she was becoming an embarrassment, too much of a liability, and try to shut down the guild for a few months. That would be a disaster.

  The guild master watched her enemies moving off, the barbarian holding the limp body of the other half-orc in his arms. They were walking away from her, toward the far side of the jailhouse. She sneered contemptuously, thinking of all of the planning and effort that managed to kill only one of the five, and it was the feeble one at that.

  She grabbed Yauktul by the throat.

  "This is the ultimate test," she said. Still gripping the terrified gnoll, she drew the staff from her belt and pressed it into the creature's shaking paws. "Take this damned thing, and don't fail me now."

  The gnoll clutched the device to his chest, whimpering and cooing to it as he rubbed the globe on the top of the shaft. The yellow slits of his eyes glassed over and he mouthed silent words to himself.

  Flint cursed Wotherwill's name. The artifact had brought her nothing but pain and humiliation, and she was ready to be done with it. It was no longer worth the trouble it caused. Besides, the guild master thought, she had other resources to fall back upon. The staff was worth a lot, surely, but not enough. If she was going to make a clean break from Newcoast, she didn't want the cursed staff spoiling everything all over again.

  She patted Yauktul's head. "Get them, my pet. They are the ones who took your treasure, and they will take it again unless you stop them."

  The gnoll growled and bared his fangs at Flint's words. His arms hugged the staff more tightly to his chest. Flint stepped back from the pair. She could feel the raw lust to kill radiating from the creature's eyes, now that they were no longer clouded with indecision.

  Flint pointed Yauktul out into the street. His row of troops padded chaotically behind their commander, all of them showing the effect of the staff's proximity with their snarling and snapping at one another as each tried move as close as possible to the magical staff. The guild master studied the group coldly. She shook her head. They looked nothing like the savage but disciplined pack she'd dealt with in the past. The staff's presence had twisted them into a mob of slavering incompetents. She had little faith that they would be able to stop the adventurers from escaping.

  Flint spun around and bolted for the alleyway. She knew she'd never be able to clear up the mess with the city. It was time for her to leave town. She would be glad to be rid of them all, gnolls and heroes alike. It would be hours before the extent of the night's activities were revealed. Plenty of time to wrap up loose ends and get far away.

  20

  Waves of hatred flowed through Yauktul's veins. He watched the companions moving down the road through squinting eyelids as he muttered to himself. Another sound cut through his own soft voice, a buzz of whispered words that echoed through the creature's clouded mind.

  Must kill.

  He shook his head and looked at his men, but none of them seemed to have heard the voices in his head. The commander waved the artifact to his men, urging them forward. The troopers shuffled along the paved street, following behind the fleeing company.

  Yauktul had seen what the group was capable of, how they'd wiped out his elite guard at the camp in the Deepwood as he himself fled into the forest, how they killed the ettin and cut through the rest of his company as though they were nothing. Yes, Yauktul had seen what the group was capable of. He was not eager to face them again.

  He commanded his men to stop as another thought hit him between the eyes, causing his legs to twitch and setting his teeth to grinding. The words came more strongly this time, pushing all other thoughts aside.

  Must Flee.

  Yauktul wanted to get away from the whole affair. The voice urged him to return to the forest, return to the simpler days before he met the guild master and fell into her web of power. He could live in peace in the forest with his new treasure, and keep it safe. Flint promised him wealth and power beyond his wildest dreams, but until the staff was in his hands, hed seen little to compensate for his hardships and loss. If he left now, everything would be better.

  Yauktul remembered what it felt like to be so near the object as hed carried it from the shipwreck to his camp. The sense of power and wellness that he experienced as it sat in the chest in his tent, the calm it brought him and the lust for murder that its loss invoked. The guild master's face flashed through his mind and the words came back.

  Must obey.

  Images of the woman filled his brain with a longing for blood. He whimpered softly as he thought of crushing Flint's head with the staff. He could almost feel the side of the thing hitting the woman's skull. He would take the thieves guild for himself, he thought. He'd seen the power and influence that Flint commanded. Yauktul licked his lips. He could control it all. The words raced through his head, tumbling in on top of the others until they were just a steady hum of conflicting directives.

  The creature clutched Wotherwill's staff tighter to himself. He paused. Then came the strongest urge.

  Must flee.

  The words pounded through him, swirling with a force that almost drove him to his knees. Yauktul turned aside for a moment, looking at the brightening sky as he thought of the freedom of the wild. He turned back to face his pack. His troops tared at their commander, waiting for him to give a command, any command. They needed him to lead them, the staff told him, they needed him to give them purpose. They needed him to tell them to kill. Yauktul pawed at the staff.

  Must obey.

  His foes were slipping away from him. They were the foul things that took his treasure away. They'd made him suffer, and Yauktul would make them pay.

  He barked a command to his gnolls and followed after them as they moved down the road.

  Yes, the staff told him, it is time for revenge.

  Krusk gra
bbed Malthooz under his arm and lifted him from the ground. Malthooz groaned as he was raised to his feet, and his head rolled from side to side as he struggled to look around.

  "We've got to go," Krusk said to the others as he turned out of the tiny alcove and moved into the street.

  The slash in the barbarian's leg was beginning to throb and burn as the fury of the battle ebbed. The cut in his abdomen hurt, too, but he suspected it was very shallow. The weight of Malthooz brought fresh awareness of both injuries to Krusk even as his fear for the half-orc he carried drove him to move faster. Krusk's breath was short and he felt weary in his bones, but he pushed himself to move, fought through the fatigue as he would battle a physical enemy. Anger at the guild master still burned in the pit of his stomach. Krusk pushed it aside, feeling another, even stronger calling. He had to save Malthooz. The half-orc didn't stand a chance if he didn't get help soon. Krusk also knew that all of them had to get out of Newcoast as quickly as possible. When dawn broke, all hell would break loose, and they would be sitting ducks for the city guard. They had no safe refuge in the city, especially since the guild had turned against them. They had to get out of the city.

  "We can head for the forest," Vadania said as she trotted alongside the barbarian. "I might be able to save him, if he makes it to the forest."

  Krusk nodded, but he wasn't really listening to the druid. He heard the snow crunch under his boots as he concentrated on every step, counting off each one as another step toward freedom and away from the guild.

  As he rounded the corner of the jailhouse, Krusk heard Lidda curse.

  "Gnolls," the rogue hissed as she came around the side of the building. "A bunch of them."

  Krusk turned at the sound of her voice. She stepped back and paused, as though she was considering whether to say more. Krusk glared at her; he had no more patience for anything. He turned again and resumed his march. There was no time to spare for a fight with the creatures.

  Let them come, Krusk thought. I'll deal with them if and when they catch me.

  When Lidda spoke again, her words hit Krusk like a fist to the stomach: "Flint's with them."

  The tiny thread of restraint snapped in the barbarian's head. Overpowering anger welled up. His limbs, aching from the exertion of the fight, suddenly felt warmer and lighter, renewed by an inner reserve of strength.

  "She bolted down an alley," Lidda continued. The rogue pressed her back against the cool marble and peered around the edge. "The dogs are coming this way, but they look confused." An uncharacteristic growl escaped her lips. "The one from the camp is with them."

  Malthooz groaned and tried to raise his head.

  "Get, her," he said weakly. "None of us is safe while she lives." The half-orc smiled unevenly. "Get her for me."

  Vadania went to Krusk's side, but the barbarian brushed her away. He looked at the druid but didn't really recognize her. Next to the wall, Krusk set Malthooz down in the clean snow. When he stood, his axe was in his hands.

  The others waited, unsure what would happen next. Krusk backed away from them, shaking his head. The assassin's blood that covered him was shiny and black. His eyes were mere slits, but they glowed with anger. Without a word, the barbarian turned on his heel and jogged back the way they had come.

  "I'm going with him," Lidda announced. "Not even Krusk can chop his way into the guild hall. He's going to need help."

  Mialee said, "Nothing but death will stop him now. Go with him, and watch out for him."

  "I'll do what I can," the rogue replied, "but I'm not making any promises."

  Vadania stepped forward and said, "Meet us outside the city. Mialee and I will get Malthooz to safety. Look for us to the east of the main road."

  Mialee poked her head around the corner in time to see gnolls, scattered by Krusk's unexpected charge, milling in the street. They waited for commands that were not coming. Yauktul stood in their midst fondling Wotherwill's staff. Krusk and Lidda had smashed through the gnolls without pausing, on their way to the guild hall.

  "We should move," she said, stepping back around the building and dropping down next to Vadania. "We can't do anything for them, but we might still save Malthooz."

  The druid nodded in silent agreement.

  Each of them took one of the half-orc's arms, and they raised him from the ground. Mialee staggered under the load, trying to keep weight off her own injured knee. Struggling and stumbling, they started moving slowly toward the edge of the city.

  "The roads will be guarded," Vadania said. "They might not be looking for us specifically, but we're not the most inconspicuous or innocent-looking group right now."

  "The docks," Malthooz wheezed. "I know a way."

  Vadania looked at Mialee and the wizard shrugged.

  "Trust me," Malthooz said. "We can use a boat. Lidda and I saw it earlier."

  The wizard smiled. It was a good idea. She looked at the druid.

  "Krusk and Lidda are expecting us inland, to the east, along the main road."

  "Don't worry about Krusk," Mialee replied. "He'll wait for us. He'll wait a week, or a month if he has to. He said he'd be there, and he will."

  Vadania nodded, then to Malthooz she said, "Point the way."

  The light of the sun was already brightening the edges of the horizon. Even that faint light, reflecting off the snow, brought crisp detail to their surroundings. Shadows sharpened and peaks of roofs were outlined in icy sparkles. The wizard wasn't sure what the gnolls were up to, but she expected that, between the staff's magic and Krusk's assault, they were no longer much of a threat to anyone but themselves.

  A door opened along the side of the street, causing Mialee's heart to skip. She started to pull Malthooz to the side, hoping to get out of sight, but the face that peered at them in the dim light pulled back as quickly as it emerged. The startled stranger obviously recognized their battered forms as the approach of trouble and thought better of getting mixed up with them.

  We must look awful, Mialee thought.

  She tried to imagine what must be going through that person's head. At first it made her smile, but the smile faded with the thought that she was stuck in the middle of the situation.

  "We won't be so lucky when the whole city comes alive," Vadania said.

  She pulled ahead, pushing them to move faster.

  "That will be any minute by the look of it," Mialee replied.

  As they rounded the next block, Mialee saw the top of a mast showing above the roof of a squat warehouse. The docks were just beyond the next lane. The ship's sail was bunched under a spar, its folds catching the full light of the sun as it broke the horizon.

  Any minute now, the wizard told herself, and the city will be awake.

  They passed the next row of buildings and moved along the ranks of ships that lined the harbor front. There, at least, two oddly-dressed people helping a stumbling friend wouldn't attract much attention.

  "It's not far," Malthooz said, "beyond the next pier."

  Mialee could feel the half-orc's strength giving way. His weight on her shoulder was increasing and his steps growing more unsteady. Whenever he faltered, his bulk threatened to drag her to the ground.

  Just a bit more, Mialee told herself, praying that he could hang on and stay conscious until they reached their destination.

  Malthooz whispered, "Stop."

  Lifting his shaking hand, he pointed to the top of a ladder that showed just above the edge of the dock. They moved over to it and Vadania scrambled down. She stopped halfway and shifted to the side, hooking one leg around the ladder to brace herself. Mialee helped Malthooz get his foot on the top rung.

  An arrow whistled past the wizard's ear. The gnolls were advancing down the row of ships. At their head was the packmaster, urging them on while holding Wotherwill's staff high above his head.

  "Gnolls! Hurry," Mialee cursed as she watched Malthooz drop from sight.

  How he found the strength to cling to the ladder, she didn't know. She leaped down, byp
assing the ladder entirely, to land on a heap of rope on the lower dock. Despite Vadania's help, Malthooz lost his grip and the two of them crashed down as well.

  The three of them struggled back to their feet and stumbled, dragged, and pushed themselves to the end of the dock, where a ship's boat was tied up. Vadania jumped in, then cushioned the fall of the half-orc when Mialee pushed him over the edge of the dock. Water sloshed into the small craft as they tumbled against the gunwale.

  Arrows flew overhead and thunked against the sides of the boat or skipped erratically off the dock. The gnoll leader stood at the top of the ladder, waving the staff. His troops milled to either side of him, disorganized and disoriented but still dangerous. Spittle flew from the commander's snout as he barked and shouted at his pack. His words were incoherent, but the gnolls needed no encouragement to keep firing on the rowboat.

  "If you have any ideas at all, do something quick," urged Vadania.

  Mialee heard the druid's words, but only as background noise. Her fingers were already rummaging through the pouch at her belt with practiced familiarity. Vials and coins were hastily pushed aside or flipped out onto the bottom of the boat until she found what she was after. Mialee's hand brush something smooth and cold, and her fingers snapped around it. She yanked the bone scroll case from the bag and struck it against the side of the boat. The case split into pieces, letting the scroll spill into the wizard's waiting hands.

  With the scroll clutched tightly, Mialee dropped to the bottom of the boat and rolled onto her back next to Malthooz. She ignored the arrows flying overhead, and the howls of the gnolls who thought they'd shot her, and she started reading from the scroll.

  The magic tingled as it welled up in her hands. The words on the scroll twisted, blurred, and flowed together. She repeated the words seven times as the spidery, magical script faded from the face of the parchment. Fire coursed through the elf's veins as she raised herself up and stretched her arms toward the clustered gnolls. The used scroll fluttered into the harbor, sending out a series of concentric ripples as it settled on the surface of the water.