T Lain - Treachery's Wake

Yauktul entered the chamber and moved to her side.

“Ah, my pet,” she said, rubbing the commander’s head. “You’ve done well this time.”

She strode to the wall and picked up the staff from the shelf where it lay. The gnoll followed her every movement with its eyes, its tongue hanging from the side of its mouth. The guild master touched the tip of the artifact to the creature’s hands and its eyes rolled back.

“Yes,” Flint said, “you have done well, but there is one more thing that you must do.”

She pulled the staff away. Yauktul whimpered and yelped as the thing slipped from his touch. He kneeled before Flint and pawed at her boots.

“Get up,” the guild master said, kicking at Yauktul’s claws.

The guild master walked to her desk and snatched up her wine glass. Things were going to work out fine, she thought. All of her problems would soon be out of her hair. The mayor would have bodies to show the city council, and she would have the staff free and clear.

There was a knock on the wall and four men entered Flint’s room through a concealed door behind her desk.

The assassins assembled themselves in front of the guild master. They were lean and wiry like the doorman, but their movements evidenced a suppleness and level of training that few could approach.

Skintight black suits wrapped each of the men, showing the deep ripples of muscle on their chests. They bowed to the guild master as she moved down the line.

None of the men betrayed any emotion in his eyes. Flint grabbed one of them by the chin and gazed into the grim, black orbs. She shuddered minutely. Where even the most hardened of criminals leaked at least a hint of humanity in their gaze, here Flint saw a pit of unfeeling nothingness.

“And you,” she said, “are my insurance.”

Lidda was taking a long time in returning. Malthooz had been hiding near the inn for almost two hours by the time he finally saw her pass under the torchlight of the street lamp. Kargle rounded the corner behind the halfling. Malthooz didn’t like it already. There was something odd about the man, even aside from his unexpected presence with the rogue. Maybe it was just knowing that he was from the guild that made the half-orc suspicious.

He watched them approach. The man’s body seemed to melt into the shadows as he moved. His feet made no sound on the cobbles. Malthooz clenched his fists.

“W-who is this?” he stuttered.

He didn’t really know what he was expecting from the rogue’s trip to the guild. He hadn’t worked his way through that part. The situation seemed so hopeless that he hadn’t wanted to think about the details. Part of him was hoping that she’d just have the others with her when she came back. He realized how silly that was.

“What a welcome,” Lidda said sarcastically. “The wizard is dead. The magic staff is gone. Someone set us up. Give me some credit, Malthooz. Flint offered to help us rescue our friends, and unless you come up with a better plan, I think that you need to trust her.”

Malthooz looked at the man.

“And that’s what you’re for, to help us?” he asked.

“You could say that,” the man said, stepping forward. “While the guild has reached a certain level of understanding with the city’s officials regarding crime, some things are still considered off limits. For instance,” he smiled, “killing innocent wizards. While m’lady Flint is given certain protections from the law, she is not above punishment. My name is Kargle.”

Kargle offered Malthooz his hand. The half-orc considered what he was hearing. It wasn’t completely implausible. He took Kargle’s hand and shook it limply. The maris grip was tremendous.

“What of the others?” Malthooz asked.

“Flint’s made arrangements for a jail break,” Lidda said, “and for our safe passage from the city. It’s not ideal, but we have few other options.”

It didn’t sound good to the half-orc, but the rogue was right. Leaving the city would be like an admission of guilt, but he had no desire to stay longer in Newcoast anyway. What other choice did he have? He was tired of letting the situation and his own helplessness make his decisions for him.

“Here,” said Kargle, handing him a small weapon. “We might not need them, but you never know.”

Malthooz looked at the instrument in his hand. It consisted of a stout handle that was affixed to a hard ball of leather. A thin cord, about as long as the span of a hand, separated the two. The cable was flexible, but only slightly so.

“It’s a blackjack,” Kargle said. “Hit someone on the back of the head and you’re almost guaranteed to knock him cold. It’s not usually fatal, but you don’t want to put all of your strength into it.”

Kargle emphasized the last line by striking the small leather weapon against his open hand.

Malthooz palmed the thing and asked, “So what do we do?”

Kargle ran them briefly through the plan. It sounded easy enough to the half-orc, providing that Flint’s contacts came through on their end. Something about the way that Kargle spoke still bothered Malthooz, but he was not able to place his finger on it, and at this point he was in a poor position to do anything but follow the man’s lead anyway. They started moving.

The night air was cold and crisp as the three made their way through the town. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the stars were visible seemingly by the thousands. Malthooz wished fervently that none of this had ever happened and that he was at home, lying on his back in a field, enjoying the view of the firmament. His friends would be safe and he’d never have laid eyes on the damned staff. He stepped past Lidda and under the light of the street lamp, following Kargle as they started for the jailhouse. Lidda fell in behind him.

The jail was one of a cluster of official buildings near the center of the city. It was an impressive structure. It wasn’t nearly as tall as the city hall, but it looked like it was built to withstand a siege. Malthooz read the inscriptions on the marble buildings as they moved past them, wondering exactly what a Temple of Justice was.

“There is no one around,” he said, glancing down the wide street.

“Most city business is done during daylight hours,” Kargle explained. “And Eva has seen to it that the city guard is not going to bother us.”

They came to the broad staircase that ran up to the twin doors at the front of the building.

“Remember,” Kargle said over his shoulder as they approached the steps, “only three guards will be on duty inside, and the jailer is not to be harmed.”

Malthooz felt a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. It was not just nerves again. If Flint could keep the guards from the streets, she could just as easily have been the one who sent the guards after their group in the first place. His head started swimming as the puzzle that he had constructed in his mind shattered and all of the pieces he’d carefully laid in place flew apart. Suddenly he knew where he had seen the doorman before.

Things were moving much too fast for Malthooz’s liking. He felt a desperate need to sit quietly somewhere and think.

Was Lidda in on this, too? Or was she as clueless about the guild’s connection to the murder as he had been? He wondered if Kargle had seen the look of recognition cross his face. He cursed the man, wishing that he could get just a moment alone with Lidda. It mattered little if Kargle was aware of what he knew. If they were heading into a trap, the doorman could care less either way. Malthooz had to find a chance to speak with Lidda, to try and discover if she was in on the plot. He had to know whether she had sold them out for a greater share of the gold or a position within the guild. He felt sick. Not more than a few hours ago, he trusted the woman with his life.