by T. H. Lain
"Gnolls! Hurry," Mialee cursed as she watched Malthooz drop from sight.
How he found the strength to cling to the ladder, she didn't know. She leaped down, bypassing the ladder entirely, to land on a heap of rope on the lower dock. Despite Vadania's help, Malthooz lost his grip and the two of them crashed down as well.
The three of them struggled back to their feet and stumbled, dragged, and pushed themselves to the end of the dock, where a ship's boat was tied up. Vadania jumped in, then cushioned the fall of the half-orc when Mialee pushed him over the edge of the dock. Water sloshed into the small craft as they tumbled against the gunwale.
Arrows flew overhead and thunked against the sides of the boat or skipped erratically off the dock. The gnoll leader stood at the top of the ladder, waving the staff. His troops milled to either side of him, disorganized and disoriented but still dangerous. Spittle flew from the commander's snout as he barked and shouted at his pack. His words were incoherent, but the gnolls needed no encouragement to keep firing on the rowboat.
"If you have any ideas at all, do something quick," urged Vadania.
Mialee heard the druid's words, but only as background noise. Her fingers were already rummaging through the pouch at her belt with practiced familiarity. Vials and coins were hastily pushed aside or flipped out onto the bottom of the boat until she found what she was after. Mialee's hand brush something smooth and cold, and her fingers snapped around it. She yanked the bone scroll case from the bag and struck it against the side of the boat. The case split into pieces, letting the scroll spill into the wizard's waiting hands.
With the scroll clutched tightly, Mialee dropped to the bottom of the boat and rolled onto her back next to Malthooz. She ignored the arrows flying overhead, and the howls of the gnolls who thought they'd shot her, and she started reading from the scroll.
The magic tingled as it welled up in her hands. The words on the scroll twisted, blurred, and flowed together. She repeated the words seven times as the spidery, magical script faded from the face of the parchment. Fire coursed through the elf's veins as she raised herself up and stretched her arms toward the clustered gnolls. The used scroll fluttered into the harbor, sending out a series of concentric ripples as it settled on the surface of the water.
A spot of fire appeared in the air at the edge of the wizard's hand, looking like the pea-sized light of a firefly. The luminescent bauble streaked up the length of the dock and struck the pack-master in the chest.
The gnoll commander stared in wonder at the tiny light, unsure whether it was getting closer, or moving at all. As it hit him, his eyes grew wide with comprehension. A slight tremor ran through the air when light and leather met. The bead of magic drew oxygen in around itself, then let go. Fire and heat erupted into a blazing sphere of destruction.
Howls from the dying creatures could be heard above the whoosh and hum of the ball of fire. The cloud of flame engulfed the row of gnolls. Mialee flew back against the side of the boat as a wave of heat and flame passed overhead. She smelled the pungent stink of her own burning hair, singed by the searing graze of the flames. The scene at the end of the dock wavered through blurring and distorting lines of heat.
In the space of a few breaths, the pack was reduced to twisted, ashen shapes on the scorched planks. Their charred remains smoldered and crackled. Small piles of melted, misshapen arrowheads marked where quivers of arrows had burned away. Small embers still glowed, showing dots of red light along the length of the wharf. The tar-soaked timbers kept them alive, feeding them with a steady trickle of fuel.
Mialee pushed herself to her feet. She climbed out of the boat and stumbled down the dock, tripping over an embedded arrow.
The smell from the gnoll commander's body was overpowering. Mialee held her hands across her nose as she rolled the blackened corpse over with the toe of her boot. Wotherwill's staff was still clutched in the creature's skeletal hand. As she took hold of the artifact, the bones of the gnoll's fingers disintegrated. A quick shove with her heel sent the foul corpse tumbling into the bay. It sank slowly, leaving behind a sooty slick.
Vadania called to Mialee from the rowboat.
The wizard looked around and saw that the dock was rapidly coming to life and moving in her direction. She sliced the rope holding the craft to its mooring, hopped in, and used the staff to shove off from the dock. Vadania already had the oars slipped into the locks, and the two of them worked together to maneuver the boat out across the harbor. Mialee put her aching back into the work, watching the staff roll from side to side across the bottom of the boat.
Lidda stepped around the corner in time to see the barbarian crash headlong into the ranks of the gnolls. Those in his path were bowled to the ground and the rest scattered in all directions, trying to get beyond the reach of his sweeping axe.
She moved in the half-orc's wake, using the uproar and the darkness to hide her passage. The confused gnolls were too concerned about the possibility of Krusk turning back and charging them again to be aware of the small shape passing by in the shadows. Slowly, Yauktul pushed them back into a pack and they started moving again, toward Vadania, Mialee, and Malthooz. They weren't moving fast, the rogue noted, least of all Yauktul. The leader of the pack muttered to himself under his breath as though he was engaged in an argument with someone unseen. His jaw snapped from side to side as he engaged himself in dialogue. Lidda was not sure who was winning the debate, but she had no time to find out. Farther ahead, she saw Krusk jog to the far end of the alley and disappear around a corner.
The others would have to deal with the gnolls, Lidda decided, and she sprinted off in pursuit of the half-orc. They hadn't noticed her passing. She hoped the others would be as lucky.
The rogue rounded the bend at the end of the alley only to see Krusk turning down another street. At each corner it was the same. The barbarian wasn't pushing himself, but his legs were much longer than the halfling's. It was all Lidda could do to keep track of his twistings and turnings. She knew that even if she lost sight of Krusk, she could follow him by the heavy boot prints he left behind on the snow-dusted road and by the spatterings of red blood that also marked the trail. Clearly, at least some of the blood on his armor was his own. He probably didn't even know he was bleeding, Lidda thought, or if he did, he didn't care. He would not stop until either he or Flint was dead.
Lidda pushed herself harder, hoping to catch up to her quarry. Storefronts and inns raced past. From out of nowhere, a stooped form materialized directly in the rogue's path. With a yelp, Lidda slammed into the man. The two of them tumbled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. Lidda felt the chill of slush oozing across her chest as they slid to a stop. She lifted her head and saw Krusk receding into the distance. At her side, the man cursed her, shaking his fist. She jumped to her feet in one swift movement and ran on, but she took a different turn than the one Krusk had taken.
Lidda had little doubt where the barbarian was heading, even though he seemed uncertain of the route. There was a quicker way to the thieves guild, and the halfling intended to take it. Either Flint was weaving through the streets trying to shake Krusk's trail, Lidda thought, or the barbarian had already lost it and was desperately looking for the guild himself. Either way, the rogue knew that she could get there ahead of him. She cut across a wide junction of streets and passed into an alleyway. If she was wrong, Krusk would pay the price, hut she would never catch up to him the way he was moving.
More of the city was stirring now that the sun was lifting the morning chill. People were entering the streets all around Lidda. Merchants and mongers, the city's earliest risers, were hurrying to the market, hoping to beat their competitors to the choicest stalls. None of them paid any attention to the rogue as she sped past, and she was thankful that their own pressing business kept the peddlers from noticing her. She doubted that the wounded and raging barbarian would be so easy to ignore, and he wouldn't allow himself to be delayed. She brushed by a man pulling a cart loaded with pots a
nd pans and came around the corner of the street that fronted the guild. The din of the copper wares trundling over the rough cobbles rattled behind her.
Krusk was approaching from the other direction. The barbarian looked horrible, like a figure from a nightmare. His gait was strong, but his gashed and spattered armor was shiny with frozen blood. Crimson streaked his face and outlined his eyes. A thin layer of reddened frost glistened on the razor edge of his axe. Lidda dashed in front of him as he jogged up the stairs in front of the guild house. She caught his elbow as he raised the heavy axe to bash in the front door.
"Krusk," she hissed, "there's a better way."
The barbarian stopped, axe poised and said, "Flint is inside. This way's fine."
Lidda clung to his raised arm.
"You don't have to die here, Krusk," she pleaded. "I'll get you inside a way that Flint doesn't suspect. You can take her by surprise."
Lidda grabbed the handle of Krusk's axe and slowly pulled the weapon down. The barbarian's chest heaved. Lidda saw fresh blood trickling from two gashes in his armor, one across his ribs and the other, much deeper, on his thigh.
"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.
"I'm glad your friend died. Or was he your brother?"
The barbarian moved to strike the woman but his fist was stopped by Lidda's hand on his shoulder.
"Just leave her to die, Krusk," she said.
Flint smiled again, reveling in Krusk's pain. She turned to Lidda.
"Things turned out poorly for you, too, little one," she said. "You crossed a guild...who will take you in now...?"
Her words trailed off, but her eyes danced with a wicked light.
Krusk stooped and took the dagger from her hand, then he crouched over Flint's body. Lidda's view of Flint was momentarily blocked, and Lidda was glad. When the barbarian turned around again, he held Flint's dripping head in his left hand. His right, holding the knife, glistened with bright blood. He tossed the knife away carelessly and retrieved his axe.
"Now we both killed her," the barbarian said.
Lidda had no reply to that.
"Let's move," she said. "Malthooz and the others still need us. We don't have much time, if any, before last night's activities are discovered."
The rogue's ribs were throbbing, but she took Krusk by his knotted, blood-stained fingers and the two of them made their way down the tunnel.
"There's light ahead," Krusk said, motioning with his grisly trophy.
