T Lain - Treachery's Wake

“With who knows how many gnolls firing on us the whole way?” Vadania asked, slamming the wall with her fist in frustration. “We’d be cut to shreds.”

“What other choice do we have?” Lidda yelled at the druid.

“Hsst.” Krusk ran a hand across his throat, pointing with the other at the black-clad figures approaching from across the street. “We’re out of time. There’re no choices left to make.”

He let Malthooz down to the ground and propped him sitting up in the doorway. Malthooz sighed as his body came to rest on the cool stones. His eyes lost their focus and the fear on his face was replaced with a peaceful calm.

“Go,” he said, “leave me here. You can’t help me and I can’t help you.”

His head sank back against the wall and his hand slipped into the front of his shirt, where the wooden symbol of Pelor hung.

The men in the street were drawing closer, closing in across the square toward the companions. Krusk could make out four of them. Their every movement was graceful. Too skilled, Krusk thought, to be part of the city watch.

“The crossbows have stopped,” Lidda said, peeking around the corner. “Too bad. Maybe they would have hit one of those killers by mistake.” She moved into the street, drawing her sword.

Krusk rested his hand against Malthooz’s brow. The half-orc stirred at the touch of skin. His eyes opened and he lifted his head from the wall. His lips moved as though he was about to speak, but he had nothing to say. He just smiled at Krusk and let his head fall back against the wall.

“I’ll stay with him,” Vadania said. She put her hand on Krusk’s shoulder. “I’ll do what I can. Lidda and Mialee need your help.”

A grim determination settled over Krusk. His concern for Malthooz slipped away as he felt the reassurance of anger overtaking his mind. The rage that had simmered all afternoon boiled to the surface. He had been tricked, cheated, and imprisoned. His friend, a half-orc like himself, was dying before Krusk’s eyes. Someone was going to pay. He raised the axe above his head and erupted into the street.

The four assassins fanned themselves out in the open street as Krusk flew past Lidda and bore down on them like a charging bull.

Each of the men wielded a different weapon. The tallest of them brandished a katana and a small, spiked shield. Behind him came another swinging a long, spiked chain that he held by two circular handles that were equally spaced from the fist-sized, spiked balls at either end of the chain. The spikes on the chain were matched by those the man wore strapped on his hands. The last two moved almost as though they were one. They were identical by all appearance, the similarity following through even to the long, curved daggers they held in each of their hands. The assassins stepped up to meet Krusk’s charge as the barbarian thundered across the space between them.

Krusk’s axe met the assassin’s katana in a ringing of steel and a shower of sparks. Instantly the man crouched down, deflecting Krusk’s weapon to the side then swinging his blade back at the barbarian as he rolled away. It was a defensive strike with little power, and Krusk simply let the blow land. He wasn’t interested in defending himself, only in attacking. The katana struck his armor, sliced through the leather, and bit a shallow gash across the half-orc’s ribs. Without pausing or flinching, Krusk spun to face the circling assassin.

The barbarian’s heavy axe was no match for the swiftness of the man’s sword, nor was Krusk half as agile. The barbarian moved in on the swordsman with his full bulk, ignoring the katana while he set up a smashing blow. The assassin held his weapon ready, backing away as the barbarian came on.

Krusk rushed in with his axe held high over his head. He knew he was leaving himself wide open to the man’s attack, but he also knew that the pinprick of the sword would never stop him before his axe split the man’s skull. The assassin thrust his blade as he dodged to the side, away from the sweeping axe. Krusk felt the weapon slice his thigh as he rushed past.

The cut felt like no more than a sting through Krusk’s rage. He spun again and rushed back, much faster than the assassin expected. Again the man tried to dodge and slash, but Krusk had just seen that maneuver. With a slight twist, he let the katana bite into the heavy leather protecting his gut. The keen edge sliced into the armor just deep enough to draw blood, and there it lodged. Realization froze the assassin for only a split-second, but that was all Krusk wanted. His axe whistled downward, cleaving through the swordsman’s right shoulder, ribs, and spine, stopping only when it struck the pelvis. The body peeled away in a butchered mess on the pavement. A quick snatch freed the shivering katana from Krusk’s armor. With a sneer, the barbarian set the tip against the pavement and stomped on the blade, shattering it into slivers.

The twins circled to either side of Lidda in an obvious attempt to flank the rogue. Obvious, but effective, she thought. She would have to choose one to attack, and when she did, the other would stab her in the back. No subtlety needed. Lidda backed up, biting her lip, trying to buy some time. She couldn’t allow one of them to get behind her.

She spun suddenly toward the assassin moving to her right. She took three quick steps forward, waving her sword arm in an obvious threat while her left hand slipped a throwing dagger from the sheath on her thigh. Instead of giving ground as she hoped, the man grinned and stepped ahead to meet her challenge, his twin daggers crossed in front of his chest defensively.

“I should have guessed that you wouldn’t opt for even odds,” Lidda said to the approaching twin. Before he could respond in any way, she spun and threw the dagger into the throat of his partner, who had advanced silently to within only feet of her unprotected back. Without a pause, she was again facing the first antagonist. “You should know that I have tricks of my own.”

Behind her, the man gurgled and clutched at the knife hilt protruding from his throat. He would have screamed, but the blade was blocking his windpipe. Desperately, he wrenched the weapon from the wound. Blood gushed over the front of his black armor and flooded down the severed windpipe into his lungs. He stumbled backward, letting the knife clatter to the pavement. After two more steps, he fell to the street. His whole frame convulsed with the effort of fighting to get air into his drowning lungs. Lidda heard the commotion and knew that it would continue for a few minutes before the assassin finally blacked out, but he was no threat in that condition.

She grinned and asked, “What do you think of the odds now?”

The man spat, “Only that he was the lesser of us, so the odds haven’t changed as much as you think.”

At close range, Lidda could see that the two men definitely were twins. The man’s coldness over his brother’s death chilled her and brought Malthooz back to her mind. She understood that she faced a cruel and calculating killer. The man approached slowly, not rushing to within reach of Lidda’s sword. He held one dagger close and near his chest as though it was a shield while he threatened Lidda’s defenses with the other. Even armed only with daggers, his arms were long enough to equal Lidda’s reach with her sword. With a rapid slash, he swept both knives at the halfling. He was quick as a snake, and Lidda hadn’t expected him to use the left-hand dagger so deftly. She dodged one blade by lunging sideways and caught the other with the hilt of her sword. A savage twist sent the stiletto spinning harmlessly away, and she threw her boot up and into the man’s ribcage.

She felt more than heard the ribs crack and winced as a streak of pain went up her own side, a reminder from her tangle at the jail. Shrugging off the pain, she tumbled to the side of the man as he spun around. Somehow he had two daggers again, and he slashed with both of them a second time. At the last moment he flipped the weapon in his left hand. The butt of the knife hit the halfling across the jaw. Lidda turned her head with the strike to lessen the effect of the blow but felt the heat of pain spread across her cheek where the pommel of the dagger connected.