T Lain - Treachery's Wake

Krusk wiped Kargle’s blood from the blade of his dagger and returned it to the sheath on his forearm. He looked at the tall, stone architecture around him as he stood on the top step. The area was far different from the places he was used to, with wooden construction and the bustle of people at all hours. He scanned the windows for signs of life but light glowed in few of them. The barbarian knew enough of cities to know that this part of town was largely abandoned after sundown, its officers and officials having long since conducted their business and gone home to mansions on the hills above the bay. He also knew that the area was likely to be patrolled by at least a modest number of guards.

“Looks like everyone’s gone home,” Mialee said, joining Krusk at the front of the landing. “I wonder if the guild’s influence is enough to keep the eyes of the watch occupied.”

“According to the man that Krusk just gutted, it is,” Lidda said.

Krusk growled.

“Don’t worry, Krusk,” the rogue added. “Kargle was no friend of mine. He deserved it.”

The barbarian started down the steps and into the street, headed straight for the heart of the market district.

“Where are you going?” Lidda asked, stopping the barbarian short. The quickest way out of the city is over here,” she said, pointing in the opposite direction. “We have our chance, let’s take it.”

But Krusk had been pushed farther than he was willing to be pushed. He knew that the rogue’s words made sense, but he refused to let himself see it. The guild had played him for a patsy, and he was going to have revenge. Anyone who got in his way would get bowled over.

“Flint’s going to pay with her life before the night is up,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Fool,” the rogue replied. “You can’t get into that guild unless they let you.”

Krusk patted the blade of his axe and said, “I have my invitation right here.”

“You’re both fools,” Vadania hissed. She moved down the stairs, her eyes scanning the rooftops nearby. “There’s a half dozen places from which we could be fired on and numerous alleyways from which ambush might come. Do you really think Flint would let us go so easily?”

“I’m hoping she wouldn’t,” Krusk replied.

As Krusk turned away, a crossbow bolt flew past Mialee’s head and smashed into the stone doorframe of the jailhouse. Others whistled by and clattered all around the companions. Krusk looked up to see the dark form of a sniper pop up from behind a rooftop parapet and fire on him.

“The rooftops,” Krusk hollered, leaping back up the steps for the cover of the doorway.

“Just like I said,” Vadania replied. “Are you ever going to learn to listen, Krusk?”

The barbarian growled at the druid, “If you had listened to me from the beginning, we wouldn’t be anywhere near here now.”

He grabbed the dagger from his forearm, ducked around the corner, and hurled it at the first moving shape he saw. The blade sailed through the darkness to catch the assailant in the throat. A crossbow rattled to the ground, the body of a gnoll right behind it.

“More gnolls!” Krusk snarled. “We finish this now!”

He sprinted out into the street, moving from doorway to doorway down the avenue with the others huddled in a tight knot behind him. Missiles bounced off the stones around them as they moved. Krusk hustled into an alcove and threw his shoulder into a door. The wood splintered as his body impacted the surface, but the frame held. The others squeezed in behind the barbarian.

Lidda jiggled the door handle.

“Locked,” she said. “I could pick it but I’m not sure I want to be trapped inside.”

Eva Flint cursed under her breath at the incompetence of the gnoll snipers. She looked over at their commander with scorn. Yauktul was squatting behind the parapet with his pack, barking orders through his teeth as they reloaded their weapons. The commander’s failure at the camp should have been enough to let the guild master know better than to trust the wretch, but she’d let his success with Wotherwill speak too loudly of him.

Everything about the whole affair would have been easier if things had gone according to plan, if the adventurers had been killed at the outpost or if the city had not come snooping around after Wotherwill was removed from the list of players. Things hadn’t gone according to her design, and they continued to go afoul.

“Where the hell is Kargle?” she spat, slamming a gloved fist into the stone battlement. “He was supposed to kill them all inside the jail house.”

Between her assassin and the guards, the adventurers should have been easy prey. At least some of them should have died in jail, leaving only a few for the gnolls to finish off. It seemed, however, that nothing but error and folly had befallen her from the start. She was beginning to wonder if the tales of the staff really were true. It certainly seemed to have rattled Yauktul. He’d been useless since his return. He whimpered something about losing his finest troops to the enemy and, judging by the aim of those sniping from the roof, she was inclined to believe him.

All she wanted was the staff’s value in gold. Its magic could be damned, as far as she cared. She made a mental note never to work with a wizard again.

Unwilling to peer over the parapet herself lest one of the victims recognized her, she looked over at the gnolls. Yauktul’s tongue hung from the side of his snout. He even looked incompetent, Flint thought, nothing like the killer she’d sent out. At least he agreed with her on something. They had to be prepared for the unexpected once the jailbreak began, beyond just the crossbows. If he was useless in every other respect, at least the gnoll was good at agreeing.

“Hold your fire,” Flint said, motioning across her neck with a hand. “Let’s move into the street. You’re accomplishing nothing from here.”

The gnolls filed down a ladder into the building. Flint got to her knees and chanced a quick glance over the wall before joining them. She smiled as her foot hit the first rung and she disappeared into the hatch.

Flint had seen the four dark shapes moving down the street toward her targets.

“I’ve been hit,” Malthooz announced in disbelief.

He groaned, feeling for the first time the full pain in his back just under his shoulder blade. The back of his tunic was stained red, a crimson patch growing slowly down his side as the blood leaked from the wound. The feathered end of a crossbow bolt stuck from his skin. The bolt was buried deep in his body, if the small tip still visible was an indication. His arm tingled and he felt himself losing sensation in his fingertips.

Malthooz had felt the impact when the bolt hit, like being punched in the shoulder, but he’d thought someone had bumped into him. It was only when he slammed his back against the hard wall and felt the shaft grind inside his shoulder that he realized the truth.

Krusk knelt down next to him and examined the wound. Malthooz howled as the barbarian probed with his finger inside the wound, feeling for the head of the missile.

“It’s gone in deep, too deep to get it out here,” he said.

The swarthy color was draining from Malthooz’s face, and he slumped against the closed door. Krusk supported him as he slid down the wood, leaving a dark streak of blood down the rough surface.

“No, it’s best to leave it,” Lidda said, with an edge of fear in her voice. “It’ll slow the bleeding.”

“We have to find shelter quickly or we’ll all be sprouting little sticks with feathers,” Mialee said coldly, eyeing the street. “Maybe we can find an open building down by the wharves.”