T Lain - Treachery's Wake

Krusk nodded and said, “I don’t think there’s any danger in that. Whatever happened to the crew is long done.”

“Good,” Mialee said. “I’ll take the half-orcs and check the inside.” She adjusted a pouch of herbs on her belt. “Lidda should go topside and Vadania can search the beach for tracks.”

The railing at the rear of the ship hung half a dozen yards above the surface of the sand. A grappling hook and rope made the ascent as easy for Lidda as a climb up a short flight of stairs, and she reached the edge of the deck in seconds. Grabbing the top with both hands, she vaulted up and over it, landing in a crouch on well-worn planks. She snatched the crossbow from its holster on her back and advanced down the ship’s length.

She moved stealthily along the deck, gliding around the perimeter of the vessel, riffling past folds of cloth from the fallen sail. She rummaged through a few boxes that were lashed to the deck at various points as she made her way to the bow. Most of the containers were smashed open, with yards of heavy canvas, hemp rope, and an assortment of pulleys spilling from their insides.

From the open deck, it looked as though a hurricane had hit the ship. What remained of the mainmast was no more than a short, jagged stump protruding from the decking. Rivets still held the stub firmly to a steel collar where the post emerged from belowdecks. The lower end of the once towering pole presumably still ran down through the heart of the craft and butted the keel. The rest of its length lay across the deck, flattening a section of railing near the front of the boat, with its final yards hanging over the beach.

A boulder was partially sunk into the deck near the base of the fractured mainmast. What showed of the stone was perfectly round. Nothing short of a catapult could have hurled such a thing.

Whatever had happened, Lidda thought, I’m alone on deck now and there’s no sign of the crew anywhere.

She returned the crossbow to its holster on her back and made her way back through the jumble of rigging toward her grappling line.

The fissure in the hull was large enough for the half-orcs to walk through upright. Krusk went through first, followed by Malthooz then Mialee. The space they entered was dimly lit by sunlight coming through the gap in the hull, but it was enough to see the remains of battered crates and barrels littering the sloping floor.

“Looks to me like the place has been ransacked,” Krusk said, tossing aside a broken plank.

“From the stains on the insides of these barrels,” Mialee said, sniffing a crimson-stained stave from a crushed barrel, “I’d say this was some expensive wine. Whoever or whatever was here first, obviously had no class.”

“Nor taste for fine food,” Malthooz added, examining round wheels of cheese and dried chunks of meat.

“Maybe not,” Krusk said as he tossed a chunk of meat to Malthooz.

The dried flank was riddled with tiny bite marks.

Mialee grabbed a dagger from her belt and said, “Probably just rats, but let’s be careful.”

“Bah,” Krusk said.

As if in response to his grunt, a crossbow bolt hit the wooden beam near his head with a thud. A second flew past Malthooz, grazing his arm before slamming into the side of the hull.

Mialee crouched and drew her short bow from her shoulder.

“There,” she yelled, pointing to the doorway on the far side of the room.

A small, dog-faced head pulled back from the doorframe. Krusk leaped over the crate in front of him and chased after the creature, following the sound of its bare feet slapping against the planking. Mialee was right on his heels.

Krusk swung his axe around the corner before the rest of his body was even through the door. He felt the blade pass through the soft flesh of the creature’s body before thudding into the wall. The barbarian moved into the hallway, yanking his weapon free as he did.

The stench from the creature’s body wrinkled Krusk’s nose with disgust. The scent was unmistakable—kobold. He spat, hoping to rid his mouth of the odor. A pack of the tiny things might be a challenge, he thought as he watched two more of the beasts round a corner farther down the passage. Only a handful of the wretches, however, would be a shame to kill. Krusk glanced at the scaly body lying at his feet and reminded himself of the races’ penchant for cruelty, their tendency to pick on those weaker than themselves, and their frequent raids on human villages. He bolted after the kobolds, amending his last thought as he went. Not killing them would be a shame.

By the time the kobolds realized their mistake it was too late. A pile of overturned crates blocked the corridor they’d run down. The rope that previously held the crates to the walls dangled loosely from iron rings in the wall. As Krusk came around the corner, the kobolds growled and barked, backing themselves into the heap of broken wood. Krusk swatted away the miniature spear that was thrust at him and brought his axe down, leveling both kobolds with a single blow.

“Damn, Krusk,” Mialee said as she came around the corner, “couldn’t you have saved one for me?”

Malthooz was just behind the wizard.

“They smell awful,” he said, his words muffled by the hand he held over his nose. “I’ve heard stories, but have never seen one up close. They look harmless enough.”

He rolled one of the child-sized bodies over with his boot. The creature looked something like a cross between a lizard and a dog. He knelt beside the body for a closer look.

“Don’t let their size fool you,” Mialee said, “a pack of them can level a small community in minutes. A whole tribe, a few hundred of them, can take a town. Let’s be careful, there’s probably more.”

“It’ll take more than that to slow us down,” Krusk said as he wiped his axe blade on a plank of wood. “Let’s find that magic stick. There’s another passage on the other side of that storeroom.”

As he started back toward the cargo hold, Krusk felt the flooring jolt as though something had struck the ship.

“The tide couldn’t have come in that fast,” Mialee said as she moved to join the barbarian at the junction of hallways.

The side of the craft exploded behind Malthooz. Fragments of hull sailed past Krusk as he fought to keep his footing.

Malthooz, caught by the full force of the blast, was flung into the far wall. His head slammed against a low beam and he fell to the floor. A hail of broken wood showered his unmoving form as a massive claw burst through the hull.

Lidda was nearly to her hook and line when she heard the crash and felt the impact. The deck trembled as reverberations from the blow traveled through the sun-bleached wood.

Her grappling hook forgotten, Lidda leaped over the side of the ship in one fluid motion and prepared herself for a soft landing on the beach. By the time her feet made contact, the crossbow was held tightly in her grip. Her finger twitched on the trigger as she moved around the side of Treachery .

As she rounded the starboard edge of the ship, she heard an unmistakable sound. It was the deep howl that would make anyone who knew him painfully aware that Krusk was mad.

Malthooz felt himself slipping away from consciousness. He was aware of pain from something hitting his shoulder and he felt his neck whip as his upper body impacted the wall. His head collided sharply with a large beam. The pain was intense at first, taking the breath from his lungs, but it quickly dulled as he faded toward unconsciousness. The pain in his skull subsided to an ache. The world stopped spinning around him and he felt himself being laid gently to rest.

When he awoke, Malthooz found himself inside an immense and intensely white chamber. The marble floor and walls where polished to a high shine, matching the luminescent, alabaster columns that ran in rows the length of the room. The pillars held aloft a vaulted, half-globe ceiling.