T Lain - Treachery's Wake

She spun around in a complete circle from the force of the dagger, and she used that to feign as if she was going to go down. She fell to her knees, hoping to draw the man closer. He took the bait. As he moved in for the kill, Lidda snapped her sword around in an arc that plunged it into his side.

The assassin doubled over with the blade half buried in his body. Lidda jumped to her feet, placed both hands on the hilt, and shoved with all her might. The sword pierced completely through his body. The assassin gasped one final time, then toppled sideways. The tip of Lidda’s blade struck sparks when it hit the cobblestones.

Mialee wasn’t thrilled to be heading into battle without the power of her magic. She’d had no time to prepare herself in the confusion of their arrest and escape. She didn’t even know where her spellbook was anymore. At least she had recovered her most essential components, she thought, fingering the pouch hanging at her belt.

She had little time to weigh options, however. A whistling noise alerted her to danger on her left side, and she ducked just as the spiked chain lashed over her head. There was no chance to regain her balance because the weapon whirled continuously, whipping to the left and right without pause. Mialee tried to scramble away but the assassin turned the chain’s axis, twirling one of the balls high at the wizard’s head and the other low at her legs. The lower one struck first, slicing open her knee and knocking her feet from under her. It also saved her life, because the tumble dropped her head below the whistling arc of the second spiked ball. She rolled away desperately, trying to get beyond the chains’ reach.

The wizard pulled herself up to her knees then to her feet as the assassin circled. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other experimentally, and breathed a sigh of relief that her kneecap wasn’t shattered. She dodged the chain again, but winced as her weight came down on the injured leg. Blood from the wound trickled into her boot.

The assassin smiled at her, twirling the chain slowly in a double figure-eight pattern.

“I swear, if I had my magic…” Mialee cursed.

A flick of the assassin’s wrist sent one of the balls straight at Mialee’s head. She threw her sword up and deflected the deadly missile, but was too slow to move away from the second one that was again sweeping in at her legs. The cold steel of the chain struck against her leg and the weight of the weapon wrapped around it. Before Mialee fully realized what happened, she felt the spikes slice into her calf. The assassin yanked, pulling both handles up over his head, and Mialee tumbled to the stones in a heap.

He fell upon her at once. His spiked fist slammed the cobblestones beside the wizard’s head, but she jerked from side to side rapidly to avoid the blows. She couldn’t avoid his other fist, however, when it slammed down hard on her stomach. Air rushed from her lungs to be replaced by stabbing pain.

“If you had your magic, you’d what?” he sneered, raising his arm and placing one of the spikes under her chin.

Mialee gasped for breath. Spots of light flickered in her vision and tears flooded her eyes. She felt the tip of the steel spike on her flesh.

Her free hand groped into the pouch at her belt. She grabbed the first thing that her fingers fell upon and frantically tossed a handful of it into the man’s face. Yellow granules of sulfur flew into his eyes and nostrils. He reeled back, coughing and wheezing. The hand around Mialee’s neck loosened and the spike fell away. She kicked up, catching the assassin between his legs. He groaned and rolled to the side. The wizard pushed herself out from underneath him and scrambled crab like across the street, still gagging and struggling to refill her lungs with breath.

She nearly screamed when a huge shape burst into her vision, but instead of attacking her, it planted a massive boot heavily on the assassin’s stomach. The man howled in pain, and Mialee heard a loud crack that must have been a rib. She looked at the dark shape standing over them and realized that it was Krusk. His armor, arms, hands, and even his face were drenched in blood. It dripped from the buckles of his breastplate and hung in thickening strands from his axe. It couldn’t possibly all be his, Mialee realized, or he couldn’t stand. He didn’t even glance at her before placing the gory axe blade against the struggling assassin’s neck and drawing it slowly across until metal scraped the pavement.

Lidda was at Mialee’s side in seconds, tugging her to her feet.

“We’ve got to get back to Malthooz,” she urged.

The wizard looked at the purple and black bruise on the rogue’s cheek. Mialee let the rogue lift her from the ground. At least she was in good company, she thought, as the three of them limped down the street. Krusk had one hand on the halfling’s shoulder and his other draped over the elf’s neck. Mialee chuckled softly. She wasn’t sure who was helping whom.

They found Malthooz and the druid waiting quietly in the doorway. Mialee was relieved to see that they had not been attacked or disturbed by any other assailants. Her relief faded as she stepped into the doorway, and disappeared entirely when she saw the grim look on Vadania’s face.

“It is not good,” the druid said as the three approached.

Malthooz lay against the door. His eyes were closed. A ragged bandage torn from the druid’s cloak was wrapped around his chest. The bolt, still shiny with the half-orc’s blood, lay on the cobblestones a few feet away. Mialee saw the shallow rise and fall of Malthooz’s ribs. At least he’s still alive, she thought. He stirred as they drew close.

“I’ve done all I can for him,” Vadania said. “Without more magic, I can offer him little. My herbs can only do so much.”

Malthooz smiled at the sight of his friends. His mouth moved, but his breath was too shallow to actually speak. He reached for the symbol of Pelor on his chest and raised it shakily. He wanted to remove it, but his head was against the wall. Krusk took his hand and cradled Malthooz’s head away from the wall with his other arm, then he lifted the cord that held the holy symbol over his friend’s head and handed it to him. Malthooz smiled.

“Thank you,” he mouthed, nodding at Krusk’s open hand.

Malthooz fingered the disk for a moment, then offered the symbol to Krusk.

“Take it,” Vadania said when Krusk hesitated.

The barbarian took the thing from Malthooz’s hand and placed it around his own neck. Malthooz smiled broadly.

Eva Flint rounded the corner of the building and stepped into the street. She fell back immediately into the shadow, startled at the sight that befell her. Her assassins lay in broken heaps on the slush-covered cobblestones, their weapons scattered amidst the red snow. The adventurers were again huddled in the doorway where the gnolls had penned them with their crossbows.

She cursed them, thinking about how deep a hole she’d dug herself into. Her judgment of her foes could not have been more wrong. She spat. There were four more bodies to explain, on top of Wotherwill’s and likely a handful of jailhouse guards. The guild master wasn’t sure that the favors she was owed would cover a scandal so big. The mayor might even decide that she was becoming an embarrassment, too much of a liability, and try to shut down the guild for a few months. That would be a disaster.

The guild master watched her enemies moving off, the barbarian holding the limp body of the other half-orc in his arms. They were walking away from her, toward the far side of the jailhouse. She sneered contemptuously, thinking of all of the planning and effort that managed to kill only one of the five, and it was the feeble one at that.

She grabbed Yauktul by the throat.