T Lain - Treachery's Wake

“The fire!” Vadania yelled.

Krusk picked up the head and held it at arm’s length. The mass of skin writhed around his fingers as he carried it across the clearing and tossed it into the blaze. The stink of burning flesh fouled the area as flames licked up the troll’s face. The flesh blackened, smoked, and split before the troll’s eyes finally stopped rolling from side to side and only a blackened skull remained.

The others quickly hacked the body to pieces as it thrashed on the ground, knowing that within minutes it could regenerate even its lost skull and brain. The oozing parts were dragged or kicked into the firepit. Within minutes, all traces of the beast were gone, except for bloodstains on the ground and an unbearable stench in the air.

“What manner of beast was that?” Krusk asked as he shoved his axe into the fire.

Orange flames engulfed the blade, spitting and hissing as the thick, green blood coating its surface was consumed. Lidda moved about the camp, looking for bits of the creature.

“Troll,” she said. “The bad news, there’s likely to be more.”

Vadania knelt by Malthooz’s side. The half-orc was wedged into a tangle of roots where he lay all through the fight. His pupils were huge and his skin was even more ashen than its normal, gray hue. She waved her hand in front of his face. Malthooz stared past the druid, as though he was looking at something in the distance, or nothing at all.

“He’s in shock,” Vadania announced, placing her palm on his forehead.

She muttered softly over the half-orc’s body and he relaxed, the calm spreading downward from his face as the druid’s healing magic took effect.

“That should calm his nerves,” she said, and she joined her companions near the fire. Looking at the charred ends of bones lying amidst the embers, she added, “I’ve no mind to pass the night here, but he needs to rest before we press on. He’s had quite a scare.”

Krusk pushed past Vadania and grabbed Malthooz, lifting him from the ground.

“I’ll carry him,” Krusk said. “We can’t face another of those things.”

He wrapped his arm under Malthooz’s and heaved the limp form over his shoulder, then moved off. Vadania started after the barbarian but Mialee’s hand pulled her back.

“He’s right,” she said.

Lidda passed by the druid, her backpack over her shoulder, her short sword and crossbow slung over her back. Vadania watched the rogue follow Krusk into the darkness. She lifted Mialee’s hand from her own and grabbed her things.

“We’ve got to do something about that one,” the druid said.

“Krusk or Malthooz?” Mialee asked as she started down the trail.

Vadania thought for a moment before answering, “Both.”

They moved as fast as the situation allowed. Krusk was not slowed much by the extra weight, and Vadania knew that he was still working off the steam of battle. For all his outward gruffness, the druid did notice that the barbarian shielded Malthooz from the branches that hung across the trail and moved him carefully around the fallen trees that lay across the path.

She felt a growing affinity for Malthooz even though he was proving to be more trouble than he was worth. She also understood the frustration that he felt with Krusk. It was a frustration all of them dealt with from time to time. They’d learned to take the barbarian’s temperament in stride. Vadania couldn’t imagine the brute without his crotchety attitude. It was his essential characteristic, even if it was an exhausting trait. Still, for all of his grouchiness, Krusk was a rock of reliability in a world of shifting alliances. His dependability was unwavering and his bark far worse than his bite, provided you were on the right side of his axe.

Malthooz was a different matter. Something about his stubbornness reminded the druid of Krusk. There was no reason why he should be with them, and he was learning that the world of hired swords was more dangerous than he ever imagined. Yet he had chosen to come along, still believing that he could get Krusk to go home with him. The druid admired the principle behind Malthooz’s determination. He was putting his own neck on the line for the sake of his people.

Vadania thought that she understood the kinship between the half-orcs. She would never call it love, at least on Krusk’s part, but it was certainly real. The barbarian showed no genuine need for close emotional ties. His quick temper, however, sometimes betrayed something deeper. The only people who ever felt it were bitter enemies and close friends. Malthooz had to fall into the latter category.

As the night pressed on, Vadania sensed that the forest was changing around them. She caught the scent of salt in the air and knew that the ocean was not far off. She was tired beyond belief and needed rest if she hoped to use her magic in the days ahead. Waves of fatigue moved through her muscles and her mind was clouded with the strain of their flight.

She moved ahead to confer with the others, and they decided to pass the remaining hours of darkness on the edge of the coast away from the forest and another attack from its numerous dangers.

The druid used the promise of rest to keep her moving the final few miles. Even Krusk looked as if he needed sleep, she thought, as they cleared the edge of the forest and collapsed on the sand.

The morning sun burned through the fog shrouding the beaches of the northern Fell Coast, bringing with it the promise of a warmer day. White sand formed a gentle slope stretching away on their left, meeting the ocean a hundred yards beyond.

Vadania thought they should have journeyed farther into the woods, but Mialee and Lidda were eager to leave the darkness behind and Krusk didn’t want to waste time looking for another path. The druid’s eyes strayed skyward every few minutes.

“We would be wise to stay near the forest edge,” she said, her voice flat.

“Rocs,” she added, in answer to Malthooz’s puzzled look. “Giant and vicious avians that frequent coastal areas. They scavenge by day and eat anything. The sea cliffs to the north are probably filled with them.”

The half-orc shuddered, looking at the towering walls of stone in the distance. The encounter with the troll was still fresh in his mind.

“If we keep to the cover of the trees we will be all right,” Vadania said. “Most of the birds have migrated south by this time of year. Only the few too old to leave remain.” She glanced up again. “They are still deadly, however.”

They camped on the beach that evening. Vadania didn’t think they were in any danger after dark. Even so, they camped under a low-hanging tree in the crook of two large logs of driftwood.

Malthooz sat away from the fire and the others, his back turned to them. He could hear Mialee and Lidda talking to Krusk in hushed tones. From the sound of it, it was not a pleasant conversation. Malthooz guessed that they were scolding the barbarian about his attitude, which had not improved since the fight in the woods. Whatever the case, he didn’t think that any of them would pay much heed to him.

He grabbed the worn leather backpack that sat in front of him and drew it up between his booted feet, then rummaged through books and parchments to get at the wooden symbol lying in the bottom of the pack. The words of the disciple of Pelor who gave it to him ran through his head: “You lack faith, Malthooz. Faith in what you are.”

His hands fell upon the uneven surface of the small wooden disc. He pulled it from the pack and set it on the ground at his feet. The center was raised in the pattern of a rising sun. It was a simple design but it was crafted to flow with the natural grain of the tree it was made from. Its simplicity was beautiful. The cleric told him that the symbol was a key to his power. As much as Malthooz wanted to believe it, he still just saw it as a lifeless chunk of wood.