T Lain - Treachery's Wake

“This is the ultimate test,” she said. Still gripping the terrified gnoll, she drew the staff from her belt and pressed it into the creature’s shaking paws. “Take this damned thing, and don’t fail me now.”

The gnoll clutched the device to his chest, whimpering and cooing to it as he rubbed the globe on the top of the shaft. The yellow slits of his eyes glassed over and he mouthed silent words to himself.

Flint cursed Wotherwill’s name. The artifact had brought her nothing but pain and humiliation, and she was ready to be done with it. It was no longer worth the trouble it caused. Besides, the guild master thought, she had other resources to fall back upon. The staff was worth a lot, surely, but not enough. If she was going to make a clean break from Newcoast, she didn’t want the cursed staff spoiling everything all over again.

She patted Yauktul’s head. “Get them, my pet. They are the ones who took your treasure, and they will take it again unless you stop them.”

The gnoll growled and bared his fangs at Flint’s words. His arms hugged the staff more tightly to his chest. Flint stepped back from the pair. She could feel the raw lust to kill radiating from the creature’s eyes, now that they were no longer clouded with indecision.

Flint pointed Yauktul out into the street. His row of troops padded chaotically behind their commander, all of them showing the effect of the staff’s proximity with their snarling and snapping at one another as each tried move as close as possible to the magical staff. The guild master studied the group coldly. She shook her head. They looked nothing like the savage but disciplined pack she’d dealt with in the past. The staff’s presence had twisted them into a mob of slavering incompetents. She had little faith that they would be able to stop the adventurers from escaping.

Flint spun around and bolted for the alleyway. She knew she’d never be able to clear up the mess with the city. It was time for her to leave town. She would be glad to be rid of them all, gnolls and heroes alike. It would be hours before the extent of the night’s activities were revealed. Plenty of time to wrap up loose ends and get far away.

Waves of hatred flowed through Yauktul’s veins. He watched the companions moving down the road through squinting eyelids as he muttered to himself. Another sound cut through his own soft voice, a buzz of whispered words that echoed through the creature’s clouded mind.

Must kill .

He shook his head and looked at his men, but none of them seemed to have heard the voices in his head. The commander waved the artifact to his men, urging them forward. The troopers shuffled along the paved street, following behind the fleeing company.

Yauktul had seen what the group was capable of, how they’d wiped out his elite guard at the camp in the Deepwood as he himself fled into the forest, how they killed the ettin and cut through the rest of his company as though they were nothing. Yes, Yauktul had seen what the group was capable of. He was not eager to face them again.

He commanded his men to stop as another thought hit him between the eyes, causing his legs to twitch and setting his teeth to grinding. The words came more strongly this time, pushing all other thoughts aside.

Must flee .

Yauktul wanted to get away from the whole affair. The voice urged him to return to the forest, return to the simpler days before he met the guild master and fell into her web of power. He could live in peace in the forest with his new treasure, and keep it safe. Flint promised him wealth and power beyond his wildest dreams, but until the staff was in his hands, hed seen little to compensate for his hardships and loss. If he left now, everything would be better.

Yauktul remembered what it felt like to be so near the object as hed carried it from the shipwreck to his camp. The sense of power and wellness that he experienced as it sat in the chest in his tent, the calm it brought him and the lust for murder that its loss invoked. The guild master’s face flashed through his mind and the words came back.

Must obey .

Images of the woman filled his brain with a longing for blood. He whimpered softly as he thought of crushing Flint’s head with the staff. He could almost feel the side of the thing hitting the woman’s skull. He would take the thieves guild for himself, he thought. He’d seen the power and influence that Flint commanded. Yauktul licked his lips. He could control it all. The words raced through his head, tumbling in on top of the others until they were just a steady hum of conflicting directives.

The creature clutched Wotherwill’s staff tighter to himself. He paused. Then came the strongest urge.

Must flee .

The words pounded through him, swirling with a force that almost drove him to his knees. Yauktul turned aside for a moment, looking at the brightening sky as he thought of the freedom of the wild. He turned back to face his pack. His troops tared at their commander, waiting for him to give a command, any command. They needed him to lead them, the staff told him, they needed him to give them purpose. They needed him to tell them to kill. Yauktul pawed at the staff.

Must obey .

His foes were slipping away from him. They were the foul things that took his treasure away. They’d made him suffer, and Yauktul would make them pay.

He barked a command to his gnolls and followed after them as they moved down the road.

Yes , the staff told him, it is time for revenge .

Krusk grabbed Malthooz under his arm and lifted him from the ground. Malthooz groaned as he was raised to his feet, and his head rolled from side to side as he struggled to look around.

“We’ve got to go,” Krusk said to the others as he turned out of the tiny alcove and moved into the street.

The slash in the barbarian’s leg was beginning to throb and burn as the fury of the battle ebbed. The cut in his abdomen hurt, too, but he suspected it was very shallow. The weight of Malthooz brought fresh awareness of both injuries to Krusk even as his fear for the half-orc he carried drove him to move faster. Krusk’s breath was short and he felt weary in his bones, but he pushed himself to move, fought through the fatigue as he would battle a physical enemy. Anger at the guild master still burned in the pit of his stomach. Krusk pushed it aside, feeling another, even stronger calling. He had to save Malthooz. The half-orc didn’t stand a chance if he didn’t get help soon. Krusk also knew that all of them had to get out of Newcoast as quickly as possible. When dawn broke, all hell would break loose, and they would be sitting ducks for the city guard. They had no safe refuge in the city, especially since the guild had turned against them. They had to get out of the city.

“We can head for the forest,” Vadania said as she trotted alongside the barbarian. “I might be able to save him, if he makes it to the forest.”

Krusk nodded, but he wasn’t really listening to the druid. He heard the snow crunch under his boots as he concentrated on every step, counting off each one as another step toward freedom and away from the guild.

As he rounded the corner of the jailhouse, Krusk heard Lidda curse.

“Gnolls,” the rogue hissed as she came around the side of the building. “A bunch of them.”

Krusk turned at the sound of her voice. She stepped back and paused, as though she was considering whether to say more. Krusk glared at her; he had no more patience for anything. He turned again and resumed his march. There was no time to spare for a fight with the creatures.

Let them come, Krusk thought. I’ll deal with them if and when they catch me.

When Lidda spoke again, her words hit Krusk like a fist to the stomach: “Flint’s with them.”