T Lain - Treachery's Wake

Malthooz tried to look calm, but he quietly berated himself. He hadn’t done a thing during the fight. The magic, if that’s what it was, moved through him without warning, unannounced and actually unwelcome. He wasn’t sure what he expected, carrying the holy symbol with him on a cord around his neck. He’d seen the women use their magic many times, but it was under their control, arising intentionally. Even the shaman from the village worked with the utmost attention, whether or not what he did was truly magical. What was happening to him? None of the others seemed very concerned.

Malthooz knew that they were accustomed to the unusual, used to not relying on assumptions to get them through. They certainly didn’t trust their lives to something they didn’t understand. Not even Krusk appeared overly alarmed by what he’d seen, even if his distaste was obvious.

Malthooz heard Vadania approach.

“It sounds like the gnolls have regrouped and are returning,” she said.

Newcoast bustled with activity as Lidda moved through the streets toward the Bung and Blade. She passed the rows of ships at harbor and the wharves that lined the waterfront. Stout and long merchant vessels rocked gently in their berths as workers unloaded cargo using a simple system of pulleys and booms. Many more ships had left the previous day, taking advantage of the mild weather, hoping to make it to the next port before another storm hit. A few more arrived in the port earlier that morning, setting the docks in motion.

From the gnolls’ camp, they reached the city in three days by traveling hard. They headed south, straight through the forest. Low clouds followed them for most of the trip, hovering just above the tops of the trees. The weather followed them right into town. The air was thick and damp everywhere, inside and out, though it didn’t rain. At least the blanket of haze brought relief from the bitter cold. The trip had been thankfully free from serious pursuit and uneventful.

Merchants’ carts lined the streets and people of every description jostled amongst them, haggling over prices and quality. Lidda stopped to admire the assortment of daggers that one man was selling, with her eyes on a set of jeweled throwing blades. She waved the peddler off and moved down the row of vendors. She had no idea what use one would have for such weapons, but when she returned to the guild the next morning, shed walk away with enough gold to buy all of them and more, if she had the mind to. She walked into the pub and found her friends sitting at a table in the rear.

“I’ve set a meeting with Flint and Wotherwill for tomorrow morning,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. She put her elbow into Krusk’s ribs. “You’ll get your payment yet, and you got your fight.”

Krusk grunted.

“Malthooz has been at him again,” Vadania explained.

Lidda clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

“I’m going to leave after we get paid,” he said. “At least Krusk thinks I did enough to earn my share.”

Lidda smiled at the half-orc and said, “You saved my hide.”

“Still playing with that thing?” Lidda asked, seeing Malthooz’s trinket on the table in front of him.

Vadania grabbed the symbol from the table.

“I think I’ve talked him into learning more,” she said. “We all saw what he did to my wounds.”

Malthooz looked down at the table.

Lidda was going to miss the half-orc. She’d grown fond of him, as had the other women. He was awkward and too modest, but the rogue liked him. She grabbed his hand.

“You know you’re always welcome, anywhere you can find us. That goes for this oaf, too.” She elbowed Krusk again. “Speaking of oafs—you still got the staff?”

Krusk set his hand on the bench beside him.

“It’s not leaving my sight until you take it back to the old man,” he said. “I won’t trust him or the thieves guild until I’ve got some gold in my hand and twenty miles between me and this city.”

Lidda left early the next morning, leaving the rest of the company at the inn. She carried the box containing the staff under her arm, wrapped in cloth to avoid drawing attention.

Krusk thought it made no sense that the gnolls were acting alone, and he found it hard to believe that the creatures just stumbled upon the ship while they had a giant in tow. He’d been griping about it all night, weaving his inborn skepticism into a web of conspiracy and deceit.

Lidda had to admit that they never got much of a story from Wotherwill, and what they did hear they’d accepted almost entirely without questioning. She wasn’t too worried about the half-orc’s suspicions, though. The way she saw it, the staff had probably been in the hands of the gnolls to begin with and the creatures had simply been reclaiming it. Either way, the business would be done soon, or at least her part would be. She couldn’t care less where the thing came from. She’d feel no regret for taking it from the gnolls even if it was theirs. The weight of the container felt good under her arm as she tried to calculate the staff’s weight in gold. Krusk’s worries were over nothing.

She rounded a corner and moved onto the lane that ran behind the guild. It was wider than most of the alleyways in the city but wasn’t’ quite a street. There were a number of small windows in the wall, and the detailed trim motif on the front of the building continued around through the rear. A few boarded-up doorways lined the other side of the alley.

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.