T Lain - Treachery's Wake

“Just get me inside,” Krusk said.

She slipped her tiny hand over the knuckles of Krusk’s huge paw and pulled him away from the door, down the steps, and around the side of the building.

Eva Flint burst into her room. She moved around the side of her desk, drawing a small leather pouch from inside her cloak. Reaching under the top of the oak furniture, she manipulated a series of dials and twisted a handle to the side as the last of the trap’s mechanisms were disarmed. She yanked open the drawer and started stuffing handfuls of gems into the pouch.

Outside her chamber, the guild master heard the sounds of fighting in the warehouse beyond. She kicked her chair aside and knelt on the stone floor. With a dagger, she pried up a small section of flooring, then grabbed the iron handle hidden beneath. When she pulled it, a larger section of flooring fell away, revealing a concealed chute.

Flint stuffed the sack of treasures into her cloak and dropped through the hole into the darkness beyond. The gemstones weren’t much, but they would have to do. She landed in the broad, semicircular tube of the sewer system that ran under the expanse of Newcoast.

The treasure would at least get her to the next city.

A man came at Krusk waving a crowbar. He should have known better. The barbarian’s axe whistled under the clumsy weapon and sliced into the maris side. He hit the floor before the crowbar did.

Lidda was right behind the half-orc, reloading her crossbow, watching as her own target fell to the floor with a bolt buried in his chest. She scanned the cavernous room for more assailants, but nothing moved except her and Krusk. They were in the guild’s main warehouse. It was a massive room for holding goods, both legitimate and not, that passed through Flint’s hands on their way to various and sometimes questionable clients.

Behind the pair of companions lay a trail of bodies. Poor fools, Lidda thought. They had no idea why they died. Most of them were probably no more than laborers, simple men who kept up the appearance that the place was a shipping business. Some, though, were undoubtedly hopeful thieves, performing minor tasks for Flint and waiting for the guild master to grant them favor. They paid the price for their ambition on the edge of Krusk’s axe and across the sights of her crossbow. Lidda knew that little separated her from these men except luck. Unlike them, however, she had it and they didn’t. She would not die as a pawn in one of Flint’s games of trickery.

Lidda looked up as she heard the crunch of Krusk’s boot breaking through the wooden door to Flint’s chambers. The rogue followed the barbarian into the woman’s office, entering just as Krusk’s head disappeared through a hole in the floor behind Flint’s desk.

Lidda’s boots landed in ankle-deep muck. Just ahead of Krusk, she saw Flint dashing away through the dappled light that filtered into the area from gutters in the street above. The sewers of Newcoast mirrored the city’s streets, catching the runoff and sewage and carrying it to the harbor. Anyone who knew the streets could navigate the sewers.

The halfling splashed along behind the barbarian. She watched in dismay as Krusk raced ahead, and she knew from her earlier experience that she couldn’t keep up. Krusk was driven by passion and rage. Even so, Lidda doubted that he could overtake the guild master, who was unwounded.

Lidda dropped to her knee in the thick water. The stench of the sewer clouded her head in a way that felt almost as foul as the waste soaking into her boots and leggings. This stretch of sewer was long and straight, and Lidda could dimly make out the guild master ahead. She lined up Eva in her sights, weaving slightly with the woman’s motion, keeping one eye on Krusk as he bobbed back and forth across her line of fire.

Lidda knew that she was taking a long chance. She couldn’t risk hitting Krusk, even if that meant letting Flint escape. This was the only shot she would get.

Flint turned to head down a side tunnel. For one moment, that turn carried her clear of Krusk and gave Lidda a clean shot. She squeezed the trigger.

The bolt darted from the crossbow, whistled past Krusk, and nailed Flint in the hip. The guild master tumbled head over heels, her scream echoing through the tunnels.

When Krusk barged around the corner, he was startled to find the woman on her feet, wide-stanced, facing him with weapons drawn.

Krusk slammed into her like a runaway barrel. The two of them went down with a splash into the sewage. The barbarian lost his grip on his axe and it clattered against the tunnel wall. He scrambled toward it, but Flint was just a bit quicker. Her sword bit across his shoulder, but the rushed attack was badly aimed and caused little injury. Still, she was between Krusk and his weapon. He rolled away from the steel blade and jumped to his feet at the side of the tunnel.

Flint placed her boot on Krusk’s axe. There was no teasing smile on her face now.

“You’ve cost me everything, half-breed,” she snarled. “Prepare yourself for whatever hell is reserved for barbarians. Your time here is up.”

Krusk laughed at her.

“You know nothing about hell,” he said, “but you will. It’s you who have no time left.”

Krusk made a snapping move toward the woman. Flint swung her sword menacingly in that direction, keeping him from getting close. Krusk circled, trying to get closer to his axe, but Flint moved with him, and the tunnel was too narrow for a wide maneuver.

“I don’t care whether I cut off your head with my axe or crush your neck with my hands, thief,” Krusk growled. “Do you?”

Lidda peered around the corner. She leveled the crossbow down the tunnel, but the weaving fighters left her no clear shot.

“Damn it, Krusk,” she cursed, “get out of the way and I’ll finish this now!”

“She’s mine,” Krusk growled, deliberately stepping in Lidda’s way.

Flint lunged with lightning quickness. The half-orc jumped back, narrowly avoiding the tip of the sword that danced in front of his face.

“Forgive me, Krusk,” Lidda whispered.

She stepped behind the barbarian and kicked at the back of his knee. Already unbalanced by his leap away from Flint’s sword, Krusk’s legs buckled and he toppled backward to the tunnel floor.

Lidda was already rolling to the side, away from Krusk’s tumble. She caught Flint in her sight and fired. The string on her crossbow hummed as it sent a bolt hurtling toward the woman. The tip struck her square in the chest and passed completely through her body. Seconds later, Lidda heard it splash far down the tunnel.

The guild master stumbled sideways against the wall. Her sword arm drooped and the weapon fell, disappearing into the brown water. Flint struggled for breath. Red bubbles grew and burst around the hole in the front of her armor each time she inhaled. She groaned, but stayed on her feet. Her right hand fumbled for the dagger at her belt while with her left hand she painfully stuffed a kerchief into the hole in her chest.

Krusk roared and jumped back to his feet.

“She was mine!” he snarled through bared fangs.

His fist was raised against Lidda.

A splash followed by a sputtering laugh interrupted him. Flint had slumped to the floor, but she was sitting up against the wall. Blood flecked her lips as she spoke.

“She killed me, barbarian,” Flint laughed. “The half-pint beat the half-breed.” A cough brought bloody foam rolling down her chin. “But that’s not the funny part,” she continued. “Do you think my death will save you? Now you have even more murders on your heads. Both the city and the guild will be hot for your blood.”

Flint’s breath came in short, gurgling gasps. She wiped the blood from her mouth.