D&D 06-Treachery's Wake Read online

  Lidda felt along the wall, searching for the small catch that would open a panel in the surface. Flint had told her about the alternate entrance the previous afternoon. Lidda took it as yet another sign that she was gaining the guild master's favor. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching then slid open a concealed door.

  After stepping quickly into a small passageway, Lidda pushed the wall closed behind her. The short, dark, narrow hallway inside the wall ended a dozen paces ahead. She guessed that her entrance was being watched.

  At the far wall, she rapped the way Flint had indicated. A moment later a second panel slid open and the rogue found herself facing the doorman she met on her first visit. He nodded at the halfling, then his eyes shifted to the bulk under her arm. He turned without a word and led her through the complex to the guild master's chamber.

  Eva Flint was seated behind her desk. She smiled as the rogue entered the room. Wotherwill sat at a chair at her side, fidgeting with the hem of his robes. Lidda walked boldly into the room and set the bundle in front of them. The old wizard held the key in his hand, rubbing the top of the dragon's head with his long fingers.

  Wotherwill leaned forward in his chair. A hunger came over his eyes as he reached for the box.

  "Ah," he sighed, "a lifetime of work reaches its climax. This treasure cost me two wives and the loss of my only child." He lifted the box from the desktop. "Grievous losses each, in their own way, but this," he said, running a bony finger along its surface, "makes them bearable."

  He reached a shaky hand toward the clasp on the front of the box. The black figurine of the dragon shifted as it was brought close to the lock. Minute, ebony wings unfolded as though the creature was about to take flight. The statue's slender neck extended to meet the clasp. Shifting silvery lines animated themselves on the surface of the wood as if the two artifacts longed for each other.

  Wotherwill inserted the key into an opening in the front of the wooden box. The dancing patterns on the surface of the container suddenly stopped their illusionary movement, aligning themselves into a geometric grid. With a click, the lid of the chest sprang open.

  A soft glow from the interior of the box fell across the wizard's face and he lifted the staff from within. The artifact was magnificent, beyond anything Lidda had ever seen. Even without magical properties, the item would have been priceless. A thin wire of gold was sunk into the shaft, winding its way up the staff to the crown, where it flowered into a blossom of diamonds and opals. The staff grew as Wotherwill lifted it free of its confines until it was twice its original length. The top of the thing radiated a diffused, green glow.

  Eva Flint rose from her seat and said, "You seem pleased, wizard,"

  "Quite, m'lady. Quite pleased indeed." Wotherwill's gaze didn't stray from the staff as he nodded. He ran a hand down the length of the shaft. "Quite pleased indeed."

  He lowered the staff back toward the box. As it neared the container, the staff shrank to accommodate its housing. Wotherwill reached for a sack that lay on the floor near his chair.

  "You will find the agreed upon amount inside," he said, handing the pouch to Lidda, "plus a little extra for your troubles. Lady Flint told me of the bandits."

  Lidda opened the sack and peered inside. A mound of gold with a few modest-sized gems mixed in rested at the bottom.

  "I trust there's no need to count this here," she said, casting Flint a glance as she sealed the bag, "and that the guild has already seen its cut?"

  Flint nodded.

  "Then it is settled," Wotherwill said, bowing to each of the women. "I'll take my leave now."

  Flint summoned the doorman, and the wizard was shown from the chamber. Lidda hesitated a moment, unsure how to proceed. She turned to leave.

  "I guess I'll be going, too," she said, moving for the door.

  "Wait one minute," Flint commanded, taking her seat. "I'd like to hear more about these bandits." The final word rang thick with sarcasm. "I like to keep tabs on those who might try to move in on my territory."

  "Just a band of gnolls, as far as I could tell," Lidda said. "They had a two-headed giant with them, but I suppose that's not too strange. It's not with them anymore."

  "Not strange at all," Flint said. "I've been dealing with them for a few months now." She leaned back in her chair. "The cretins are trying to muscle in on my shipping interests."

  The guild master summoned the doorman and had Lidda shown to the door. Lidda turned to bow to Flint as she left, thinking it would only get her wedged even more deeply into the woman's good graces. As she raised her eyes from the floor, she caught the quick flash of Flint's hands, the subtle movement of her fingers.

  Good work, she signalled, I'll be in touch.

  Eva Flint pushed her chair back, tipping it up on two legs and setting her boots on the desk. She slid a dagger from under the seat and was carelessly running her finger along the blade as Yauktul was shown into the room. She motioned the commander to a seat with a flick of the blade. The gnoll looked nervously over his shoulders, at both Flint and the departing doorman, as he moved across the room. When the door clicked behind the doorman, Yauktul fell to his knees.

  "It was not my fault," he whimpered.

  Eva looked at the creature with disgust.

  "Get up," she said. "Your presence repulses me, so I would keep this short."

  The chair slammed back to the ground as the guild master lunged forward and slammed her blade into the desk. Yauktul yelped and drew back, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to bolt from the room.

  Eva got up from her seat and moved around the front of the desk. Yauktul cringed as she brought her hand down on his head to stroke the crest of hair that crowned it. She cooed to the creature as she petted him.

  "Yauktul, Yauktul," she tisked.

  She grabbed a handful of fur and yanked. The commander's neck snapped back as his eyes were brought into line with hers.

  "You failed me," she said, pulling harder on the creature's fur, craning his neck farther.

  Yauktul whimpered and Eva let go. The gnoll commander's eyes fell back to the floor. She scrubbed the front of her breeches to wipe the gnoll's musky scent off her hand.

  Pitiful, she thought, that such a being would be considered a leader among its own kind.

  It had a small aptitude for the art of magic, and she'd interpreted that as a sign of intelligence. She never should have trusted the damned thing, but she had too much time, gold, and effort invested in this undertaking to watch the treasure slip from her grasp. She had to make one last effort.

  "You can still make it up to me," Flint said, stroking the gnoll's head again.

  The guild master walked back to her desk and leaned against it.

  "You," she said, turning back to Yauktul, "know what you have to do."

  She lifted the dagger from the desk and hurled it to the floor near the gnoll's clawed foot. Yauktul jumped back when the tip of the blade struck and clattered across the stone floor.

  "This time, failure is not an option if you value your life. Now get out of my sight."

  The gnoll rushed to the door and disappeared into the hallway. Eva returned to her seat. She lowered herself into the chair slowly, calmly, then slammed her fist on the desk. It would be impossible to keep the city's officials away from this. Wotherwill only pretended to be a hermit, she knew. He was well connected within the circles of the city's gentry. His political ties alone outweighed the worth of the staff in her estimation, and they made him more dangerous than his magic, which was considerable. There had always been risk, but more was at stake. Too much more to even consider backing out. Whatever Wotherwill's connections and power, her chief clients were wealthier and better connected than he would ever be. Eva smiled to herself. The rogue and her companions would prove to be of use yet.

  It was a pity, she mused. She was starting to like the halfling.

  The scene at the Bung and Blade that evening was raucous to say the least. The whole of t
he company was warm with the intoxication of ale, and even Krusk loosened up after half a dozen rounds. Mialee stopped the barbarian from ordering drinks for the entire waterfront, cringing at the thought of an army of acquired friends.

  "We don't need to advertise our fortune to the world," Mialee murmured, looking around the pub.

  Dozens of rowdy sailors filled the place from wall to wall. A trio of them stood on a table on the far side of the room trying to rouse the assembled rabble into song. So far, they'd only managed to stir up a handful of glares.

  Malthooz was face down on the table. It hadn't taken much to put him under. Mialee felt bad for the half-orc. He tried to match the rest of the company and it wasn't long before he was talking wildly about his plans to bring his powers back to the village and replace the shaman with a new order of healers, with him at the head. Krusk egged him on as probably only he could have, though the wizard believed it had less to do with spite or jest than with the empty tankards piled high in front of the barbarian. Krusk had also convinced Malthooz that heavy drinking was his birthright, something required by his blood. The more they drank, the louder they became, until Malthooz collapsed in mid-bellow. Even the sailors were beginning to get exasperated by the time Malthooz passed out. Vadania did her best to hide the unconscious half-orc behind her backpack.

  As the night wore on, the mood grew more sour.

  "I wish I had slit that gnoll's throat when I had the chance," Lidda said, stuffing her mouth full of fried potatoes. "Flint said there's a bounty on them. She says the city pays fifty gold a head."

  Krusk looked up from his plate and growled, "I told you from the start that we shouldn't get ourselves mixed up with the thieves guild." He pushed his plate away. "Those cutthroats have no regard for anyone but themselves and their own purses."

  "Well, they didn't hurt our cause too much," Mialee said.

  She had the parchment Lidda found at the camp spread out on the table in front of her, and she was glancing at it between bites.

  Krusk grunted, "Suit yourself. I'll have nothing more to do with them."

  Vadania glanced down at Mialee's scroll.

  "Have you figured out what that does yet?" she asked.

  The wizard shook her head and replied, "No, but I will, once I have the chance to really study it." She stuffed it back into a hollow bone tube. "This isn't the place for it, though."

  "Suit yourself, yourself, Krusk," Lidda said. "I think I'll be seeing more work from the guild."

  Malthooz awoke with a throbbing in his head unlike any he'd ever felt before. It was even sharper than the headache he suffered after his run-in with the crab. He reached down for the symbol of Pelor, hoping it might offer some relief, but the wooden disk did nothing to quell his discomfort. He rolled over and sat up. A ray of sunlight came through the window. When it struck his eyes, another bolt of pain shot through his skull. He must have slept away half the morning. Krusk's bed was empty, and the women were probably up as well.

  He tried to remember what happened the previous evening. There were vague recollections of a fight with Krusk, trying to talk the barbarian into going north with him. It hadn't gone well. Malthooz shook his head and pulled on his boots. He wasn't looking forward to leaving, even though he felt that it was time to go. He'd grown to appreciate the others' company. At the beginning of the journey he'd felt like nothing but useless baggage, but since the battle with the gnolls, he felt like he was a part of the group. Still, he had no answers to his important questions, and he was sure that the village needed him, now more than ever. Stiffly, Malthooz got up and made his way to the stairs.

  The rooms of the inn were on the second floor of the building. A flight of steps ran from the center of the common room up to a long balcony that overlooked the pub below. Malthooz stumbled to the railing and spotted his friends sitting at a table in the corner. Gripping the handrail tightly, he picked his way carefully to the lower room.

  "Rough night?" Lidda asked with a grin as he advanced unsteadily across the floor.

  Malthooz grunted, but words were not quick to come. Krusk looked up at him as he took a seat next to Vadania.

  "I need to teach you to hold your drink like you hold your club," he said.

  Malthooz was relieved that Krusk didn't seem upset over the conversation from the night before. He grinned at the barbarian.

  The door opened from outside and three men in armor stepped into the pub. The red crescent moon of the city guard shone on the white tips of their belts and the hilts of their swords. Malthooz watched as one of the men showed the paper he was holding to the man tending the counter. The guard said something to the man and he paused for a moment, then nodded at the companions' table.

  Lidda reached under the table toward her leg as the guards made their way across the room. The few other patrons in the bar moved aside to let the men pass. Krusk caught the rogue's movement in the corner of his eye and spun around.

  "You're being placed under arrest for the murder of Horace Wotherwill," the guard said, laying the document on the table in front of them.

  Pressed into a patch of red wax in the bottom corner of the parchment was the official seal of the mayor of the city.

  "Found in a gutter this morning," he said. "Not that it would come as any surprise to you. We've got more than enough witnesses."

  "Impossible," Krusk bellowed, slamming his fist on the table and rising from his chair. "We haven't left this inn since yesterday."

  The barbarian reached across his body and grabbed the dagger that was strapped to his forearm.

  "Don't try anything stu—"

  The man's words were cut short when Krusk toppled the table and bowled into him. Plates and mugs sailed through the air, and the barbarian jumped on the man. Krusk's dagger thrust toward the guard's neck, but the man knocked it away with his sword. The shorter blade flew from the barbarian's hand just before the two of them tumbled across the floor.

  The rest of the company was on their feet instantly. Other guards with weapons drawn stepped up to threaten Mialee and Vadania, should either of them begin casting a spell. Neither of the women were armed. Ringed by blades, they put up their hands and stood quietly.

  As the guards' attention turned to the brawl on the floor, Malthooz lunged from his chair and shot right between the guards and the two women, headed for the front door. He heard the innkeeper shouting as he leaped over the upturned table. The half-orc reached for his club but it wasn't at his side. Three more guards charged into the room, blocking the front entrance. Krusk and the guard officer were rolling across the floor, rabidly pummeling and choking one another. More guards piled onto the fray, trying to separate the two wrestlers, straining to release Krusk's hold on the guard's throat.

  With his exit blocked, Malthooz hesitated, but only for a moment. A small hand grasped his robe and pulled him with surprising strength toward the stairs.

  "Follow me out of this death trap," he heard Lidda say. "All we can do is save ourselves."

  Malthooz looked back at his helpless companions, but he stumbled along in the halfling's wake.

  They sprinted up the staircase and across the open hallway. Malthooz paused before the door to his room, intending to retrieve his pack, but the rogue shoved him hard from behind. He glimpsed Krusk's axe resting under the bed in the corner as the doorway to the room slid past.

  "There's no way we could escape with all of it," the rogue blurted as they made their way to the window at the end of the passage.

  He saw a bulge in the pocket of her cloak, however, and knew that she at least had her share of the gold.

  The sound of booted feet pounded up the staircase behind them. Malthooz patted the symbol around his neck and touched the pouch of gold in his own tunic. That would have to do, he thought. Lidda threw open the window and jumped into a crouch on the sill, then disappeared over the edge.

  Malthooz, far larger than the nimble halfling, thrust his head and shoulders through the opening and looked down into t
he narrow alleyway that ran behind the inn. With his stomach churning and the guards charging up the hallway, he dragged the rest of his body over the sill. The ground rushed up fast, but he managed to twist so his legs were mostly beneath him, and he landed on a heap of old straw from the stables. Lidda was crouched in a shadow nearby. As soon as Malthooz touched the ground, she turned and dashed up the alley. Malthooz struggled to his feet and raced after her, chased only by curses from the window of the inn.

  Iron cuffs bit into Krusk's flesh. He growled at the jailer who pushed him along the dank hallway lined with iron-barred cells. Mialee and Vadania marched a few paces ahead. Each of the women was gagged to keep them from using magic. Krusk bit down on the rag stuffing his own mouth. It was there simply to keep him from talking.

  "I've heard enough of your abuse," the jailer said as Krusk gnashed his teeth against the gag.

  The stench of decay filled the area. Body odor, mold, and smoke from burning torches assailed the barbarian's nostrils as he walked along the row of cells. Most of them were occupied.

  The group stopped in front of a cell at the far end of the hallway and waited while the jailer searched for the right key. He was an old and frail man. The half-dozen armed guards following the group ensured his safety.

  "This should be it," he said, slipping the key into a rusty keyhole and turning it with a grating clack. The door to the cell squealed open. Krusk felt a boot in his back propelling him inside.

  Damp straw was scattered across the floor of the cell. Aside from a small urn in the back corner, the room was bare. Moisture dripped down the rough, stone walls, feeding small patches of green moss growing on the mortar between the blocks. A single, narrow shaft cut through the stonework, letting in a thin stream of light from the streets above. The pale glow that came through the opening cast a small spot of brightness on the otherwise gray floor.