D&D 06-Treachery's Wake Page 2

  Krusk's meaty fist came down hard on the table, sending a cascade of dark ale sloshing over the side of his earthenware mug and turning heads among the evening's patrons of the Bung and Blade. Even in the midst of such a motley crew as was gathered at the pub, there were none interested in meeting the eyes of a pair of arguing half-orcs. Glances quickly shifted back to plates of food.

  Malthooz drew back from the table. Though three years older and nearly his physical equal, Malthooz was in every other way Krusk's opposite. His eyes ran along the steel studs embedded in the tough leather of Krusk's shoulder armor then trailed down to the cruel dagger that was bound to his forearm in a makeshift scabbard of thick hide straps. He glanced at the massive axe resting against Krusk's chair, then down at his own humble rucksack, stuffed as it was with books. He looked up as Krusk hid his frown behind his mug.

  They were both hulks by human standards, but Krusk was large even for a half-orc. Lean and corded muscles ran the length of his body, honed over years of rough living and many fights. His face was scarred in a few places, the most cruel running from just under his left earlobe to his jaw. It was a trophy from a brawl with an ogre that had almost cost Krusk his life but earned him a double-headed magical axe instead.

  Malthooz was not nearly so bulky. He could still best almost any man in an arm wrestling match by sheer strength, but he was clumsy and untested in the realm of combat. From the time they were children, he was drawn more to books than swords. Malthooz was often the butt end of the other barbarian children's jokes and pranks. He felt the sting of cruelty even more acutely for the rift that had grown between he and Krusk over the intervening years.

  Both men had the pale, gray-greenish skin of a half-orc and a tell-tale protrusion of teeth from their lower jaw. Wiry, black hair sprouted from their skin in odd patches. They were rough looking but not ugly. By nonhuman standards, they might even be considered handsome. Among humans, half-orcs were sometimes tolerated but seldom truly welcomed. Krusk and Malthooz, unrelated in any way but race, had both found a home within a village of outcasts. It was there, amidst the mixed population of humans, elves, dwarves, and half-breeds, that their shared heritage created a bond that approximated family.

  Malthooz sighed and said, "This autumn has been hard on the village. The dire wolves have returned in greater numbers. Game is becoming scarce. Our people are disheartened." He paused. "I don't know that our chief will live to see the spring. The village needs your strength, Krusk."

  Krusk lowered his eyes as his mug sank slowly toward the table. If he was startled by the news, it did not register on his face.

  "The village is of no concern to me now," Krusk snorted, meeting Malthooz's gaze. "When I left there, I vowed never to return. It was my home for a short time, but their ways—our ways—are not mine. I could never follow your way of life and wither away in that frozen wasteland that you call a home."

  "Look around you," Malthooz urged. "Are you so at home here, so keen to grasp for the favor of a society that has no place for you?"

  Malthooz looked about the pub's dim and smoky interior. All around himself he saw the truth of his words. Cutthroats and ruffians of all stripes patronized the Bung and Blade, ever eager to pick the pockets of those who overindulged in the tavern's strong and bitter brew or to slit a throat in the back alley of anyone who's purse looked worth the trouble. If a person wanted trouble, he need look no farther than the pub.

  "Look around," Malthooz repeated. "We are outcasts among even these outcasts. No other place in town would let us in the door."

  "At least I know my place among these people," Krusk said, "and am free to do as I please." He downed the last of his ale, banging the mug hard on the table to alert the barmaid that he was ready for another. "The villagers live in fear. They could never understand my need for freedom. You should not have come here."

  Malthooz looked up as the door of the pub swung open and two figures entered the room. A flurry of snowflakes followed them in on the evening breeze. They were bundled against the chill, the fringes of their woolen cloaks white with frost.

  Malthooz watched as the first woman entered. Shocks of long, black hair spilled from her fur-lined hood, and the light tan of a leather collar showed just above the neckline of her cloak. She tossed the hood back and her hair cascaded down the sides of her slender face. Small, pointed ears jutted from behind long ringlets of ebony. She gripped a slim staff of wood in one hand, its silver-crusted top standing just above her head. The staff and the large, leather pouch slung over her shoulder marked the woman as a wizard just as her pointed ears marked her as an elf. She was willowy thin but not fragile looking.

  Malthooz instantly recognized the woman's high-elf ancestry. While most humans had little power to discern between the elf races aside from their often outlandish differences in dress and custom, Mialee's fine, white skin and simple but elegant features set her apart from any but the most beautiful of wood or wild elves.

  A druid entered next. She stood slightly taller than the wizard and looked a bit wilder. She shared her companion's elf features, but Malthooz thought she lacked the other's refined look and air of grace. A small rack of antlers was rolled up into the front of her stark, white hair and her cloak lacked the civilized look of the wizard's. Feathers were woven into the long braids that fell from her temples. Malthooz noted the jeweled hilt of a scimitar sticking out of the front of her forest green tunic. Though not a pureblooded wild elf, he thought, the lines of high and wild were crossed somewhere in the woman's past.

  Malthooz watched the druid scan the pub's interior. She took in her surroundings as a deer might scan the forest for predators before kneeling for a drink. With a nod to her companion, the two started across the floor. The druid's hand slipped over the hilt of her sword. The wizard looked unconcerned. The women approached the table where Malthooz and Krusk sat.

  "Is this a new trend?" the wizard asked, seating herself next to Krusk. "I didn't know that you actually had any friends." She grinned at Malthooz. "From the looks of this one, he's not here to help us ambush wealthy merchants or disembowel pesky beasts."

  Malthooz's cheeks reddened as he cast his eyes down to the table with a self-conscious chuckle. Krusk shot Mialee a cruel stare.

  "This is Malthooz, the one I told you about," he grunted. "He wants me to return to his home with him."

  The wizard stuck out her hand and said, "The name's Mialee—pleased to meet you."

  Malthooz took her hand awkwardly.

  "And this is Vadania," she said, tossing her head back in the druid's direction. "She doesn't say much."

  Vadania nodded a greeting.

  "So you're the one who wants to take our Krusk away?" Mialee asked.

  Malthooz felt the woman sizing him up with her eyes. A barmaid came by the table and plunked a new mug of ale in front of Krusk.

  "An ale for me and another for the brute here, and—" Mialee raised an eyebrow at Malthooz and he nodded—"one for him as well," she said, reaching for the sack of silver coins hanging on her belt. "Food for us all, and a pot of steaming water and an empty mug for the druid." Mialee dropped a few silver coins onto the barmaid's serving tray, then turned back to Malthooz. "So why would you want to take our Krusk away?"

  "My people more than I, elf." Malthooz began. "The lure of gold and tales of adventure have taken their toll on my village. The youth are no longer content with the old ways. Those of us who stay pay the price for this wanderlust. We can't keep up with the wolves and the worgs. Stories coming from the north of goblin raids are getting more and more worrisome."

  The barmaid returned with a tray of mugs and four bowls of stew. She set one in front of each of the companions and placed a pot of steaming water before Vadania. Malthooz watched with interest as the druid drew a pouch of herbs from her pack. She dumped the pungent mixture of dried leaves into the pot. As she bent down to return the pouch to her pack, Vadania's foot caught the edge of Malthooz's pack. The bag went over on its side, spill
ing a pile of books and a wooden disk on the floor.

  Vadania's eyes widened and she asked, "You cast, half-orc?"

  Malthooz hastily scooped the books back into his pack and drew the drawstrings tight.

  "No," he said curtly, shoving the pack farther under his seat. "They're nothing. Just..." he stumbled for words, "some reading."

  Vadania shrugged and said. "Your secrets are your own, half-orc."

  She took a sip of the strong-smelling brew. Malthooz glanced at Krusk, but he appeared to have noticed nothing.

  "I know difficulty better than most," Vadania said. "My people have also felt the sting of rebelliousness in our younger folk." She set her mug on the table. "And I am one of them. I cannot answer for the problems of my entire race. I do what I do."

  "Besides," Mialee cut in, "Krusk has already said he's sticking with us. Right?"

  The wizard stuck the barbarian in the side with a bony elbow. Krusk nodded with a grunt.

  "So, enough of this," Mialee said. "Besides, Lidda will be here soon and we can find out what she's got for us that's so important."

  "Good work, I hope," Krusk grumbled.

  Mialee spilled a few silver coins from a pouch onto the table and said, "Any work, I'd say."

  Mialee just finished counting the coins for the third time when the door to the pub swung open and Lidda walked through. The halfling pushed her way to their table at the rear of the pub and took the remaining empty seat next to Vadania.

  "I'm glad all of you made it," Lidda said, pausing as she looked pointedly at the unfamiliar half-orc seated with her companions. "All of you and then some."

  Mialee jumped in, saying in a low growl that almost approximated Krusk's voice, "Lidda, this is Malthooz. Malthooz, meet Lidda."

  "He wants to take Krusk back north," Vadania offered. "Long story, it can wait."

  "Yes, it can," Krusk growled. "Why don't we just get to the matter at hand. Do you have a job?"

  "Good work, good pay," Lidda said. "An easy job."

  She gave Malthooz a sidelong glance. He saw the others straighten at Lidda's words and huddle themselves closer to the woman.

  "He's all right, Lidda," Krusk interjected. "He's not much, but he's harmless. If you trust me, you can trust him."

  She continued, "It seems a local wizard has been waiting for a shipment that never arrived and he wants to hire a crew to find it for him." She dropped her voice to a whisper and gave each of them a measured look. "He's working through the local guild to keep it hushed."

  "No!" Krusk growled. "I'll not work for their like."

  Lidda looked around the room to see if anyone was watching or listening.

  "Keep it down, you oaf," she said.

  Malthooz watched Krusk's hand tighten on his mug. He glanced around the room himself, wondering what he was getting himself into.

  "It'll be easy," Lidda said, "and you won't have to deal with the 'likes' of anyone. Leave that to me. Just hear me out."

  Krusk growled, but Lidda ignored him.

  "A traveling merchant claims that he spotted a recent shipwreck up the coast a few days back. The wizard caught word of this and is convinced that his shipment, some sort of artifact, lies in the wreckage."

  "Enough," Krusk said. "I'll hear no more. Wizards, artifact, thieves guilds—I want no part in this."

  "You want to pay for breakfast tomorrow?" Mialee asked. "We don't have much choice."

  Vadania nodded and said, "And it sounds like a good break for Lidda, if this guild can be trusted."

  Lidda grinned.

  "I knew you'd have a level head at least, Vadania."

  The druid sipped her tea then added, "Besides, Krusk, I know you're probably as eager to get out of this city as I am."

  Krusk snorted.

  The wind and snow tapered off during the night but not before draping the city beneath a fresh blanket of white. The five companions moved down the empty streets of Newcoast under cover of the predawn darkness. The guards hardly gave the group a second glance as it passed between two tall, wooden towers and beneath the open portcullis of the city's western gatehouse.

  The road from the city wound through outlying fields and farms, homesteads that kept the city fed, and fueled much of the trade that occurred inside its walls. At the edge of the horizon to the west, the road disappeared into the forest of Deepwood and eventually made its way to the coast beyond.

  They were on their way to meet the wizard Horace Wotherwill. Lidda had arranged the meeting through the guild even before returning to the inn the evening before, a bit of presumption that bothered Krusk more than anyone else. That, and the guild's usual insistence on utter secrecy in this, as in all its dealings. Krusk was convinced that the whole affair would end in serious trouble.

  Malthooz walked beside him. Sweat speckled his forehead and his breathing was quick and shallow though they had come only a few miles. Krusk exhaled, each breath a thick huff of steam. His brow was furrowed in disgust, though it wasn't the frigid air that upset him.

  "You carry too many books in your pack," Krusk said. "You won't get far with so much worthless paper weighing you down."

  Malthooz's reply was flat and emotionless. "I made it as far as Newcoast, I'll make it as far as I need. Why don't you just admit that you don't want me along because my presence reminds you of duties that you'd rather ignore?"

  Krusk laughed. "Duties, you say? My only duty now is to protect you—as if looking out for the women was not enough. You shouldn't have come with us."

  "Hey," Mialee said, quickening her pace and coming alongside the half-orcs. "Don't give yourself too much credit, Krusk. We ladies can care for ourselves, and I'm sure Malthooz can do the same."

  She shot Malthooz a quick wink.

  Krusk grunted, "We'll see."

  As the morning wore on, the terrain they passed through grew less populated. Family farms dotted the rolling hills. A few lonely souls gathered firewood or tended to pitiful herds, but most were either too busy or too weary to acknowledge the group's passing.

  Wotherwill's hut sat on the far boundaries of the city. It was one of the last, scattered, tiny cottages marking the edge of Newcoast's influence. Beyond lay the thick forest of Deepwood. The wizard's shack stood out in odd contrast to the drifted snow piled almost to its windows. It was a squat, stout building made of logs from the nearby woods. A circular window sat on either side of the covered porch in front of the home. Thin curls of smoke rose from the chimney. Heat from the bricks melted snow from the roof, sending a trickle of water down the shingles to form icy spears on the eaves.

  After the bustle of the city, Krusk appreciated the dwelling's humble and unpretentious look.

  The wizard welcomed the companions into his home. The reek of old leather and the sweet smell of aging parchment, no doubt from the overstuffed bookshelves lining the walls, filled Krusk's nose. A wood-burning stove sat in one corner of the hut's single room. A copper teapot bubbled gently atop it, wafting ribbons of steam. Wotherwill's bed took up another corner, while a desk and chair occupied the last. An oak table dominated the center of the room. Despite its small size, the place looked comfortable enough.

  "I'm glad you've come," the wizard said as the companions filed in. "The loss of the artifact has been a grave concern to me and I am eager to have it in my possession."

  He sat in a chair at the head of the table and beckoned the others to take a seat. Krusk eyed the rickety furniture.

  "It will hold, half-orc. Though it looks to lack physical strength, it has been magically enhanced."

  The barbarian sat down and found the chair to be remarkably sound.

  Wotherwill continued, "I've worked with Lady Flint before and trust her judgment." He turned to Lidda. "I understand this will be your first assignment for the guild?"

  The rogue nodded.

  "Eva told me she's had her eye on you for some time. She thinks you can be trusted." He looked over each of the companions in turn, pausing to stare at Malthooz a b
it longer than the others. "You seem out of place, half-orc. I don't remember Eva mentioning a pair of you?"

  "He's with us," Krusk jumped in. "He's all right."

  Lidda nodded.

  "So be it." The wizard took a sip of his tea before continuing, "The staff you seek is of timeless design and ancient power. Many foolhardy warriors have lost their lives trying to claim it for their own. Myself, I have devoted a goodly portion of my life to its recovery. Just last autumn my work came to fruition.

  "Two centuries ago, a baron named Vernon Ghaldarous stole a powerful staff from a traveling mage. Ghaldarous' goons sneaked into the man's tent as he slept and slit his throat. They took the staff and tossed his body into the bay. Unfortunately for the baron, the mage placed a curse upon the staff that would turn its magic back upon itself in anyone's hands but his own. The power to influence and befriend even the most stubborn of people turned the baron's allies against him and his enemies into allies. He found himself attracting the most unappealing friends as the power of the staff altered and changed. Evil and deceit soon surrounded him. Life became a cruel game of survival as his new acquaintances coveted the staff for themselves. Attempts on his life became a daily occurrence. Eventually he fled into the icy wastes of northern Auralis and disappeared.

  "Over the years, many have sought the staff for their own, both with hopes of raising armies of evil and hopes of restoring the cursed item to its previous state. Until recently, no one succeeded in locating the relic." Wotherwill paused for another sip of tea. "I lost my own son to the search when his party was besieged by a band of frost giants. Only two of the original ten survived.

  "Two weeks ago, the ship Treachery left the town of Umberton in northern Auralis, with the survivors and the staff. It never arrived here and I am convinced that the staff lies within the wreckage."

  "Bah," Vadania spat, "there'll be nothing left but swollen timbers by the time we arrive. The coast swarms with bandits and orcs. It's sure to have been looted."

  "That might be true, druid, but I'd wager my life that none of them possesses the key to unlock the wards placed upon the chest that holds the staff."