Treachery's wake dad-6

by T. H. Lain

  "You're both fools," Vadania hissed. She moved down the stairs, her eyes scanning the rooftops nearby. "There's a half dozen places from which we could be fired on and numerous alleyways from which ambush might come. Do you really think Flint would let us go so easily?"

  "I'm hoping she wouldn't," Krusk replied.

  As Krusk turned away, a crossbow bolt flew past Mialee's head and smashed into the stone doorframe of the jailhouse. Others whistled by and clattered all around the companions. Krusk looked up to see the dark form of a sniper pop up from behind a rooftop parapet and fire on him.

  "The rooftops," Krusk hollered, leaping back up the steps for the cover of the doorway.

  "Just like I said," Vadania replied. "Are you ever going to learn to listen, Krusk?"

  The barbarian growled at the druid, "If you had listened to me from the beginning, we wouldn't be anywhere near here now."

  He grabbed the dagger from his forearm, ducked around the corner, and hurled it at the first moving shape he saw. The blade sailed through the darkness to catch the assailant in the throat. A crossbow rattled to the ground, the body of a gnoll right behind it.

  "More gnolls!" Krusk snarled. "We finish this now!"

  He sprinted out into the street, moving from doorway to doorway down the avenue with the others huddled in a tight knot behind him. Missiles bounced off the stones around them as they moved. Krusk hustled into an alcove and threw his shoulder into a door. The wood splintered as his body impacted the surface, but the frame held. The others squeezed in behind the barbarian.

  Lidda jiggled the door handle.

  "Locked," she said. "I could pick it but I'm not sure I want to be trapped inside."

  Eva Flint cursed under her breath at the incompetence of the gnoll snipers. She looked over at their commander with scorn. Yauktul was squatting behind the parapet with his pack, barking orders through his teeth as they reloaded their weapons. The commander's failure at the camp should have been enough to let the guild master know better than to trust the wretch, but she'd let his success with Wotherwill speak too loudly of him.

  Everything about the whole affair would have been easier if things had gone according to plan, if the adventurers had been killed at the outpost or if the city had not come snooping around after Wotherwill was removed from the list of players. Things hadn't gone according to her design, and they continued to go afoul.

  "Where the hell is Kargle?" she spat, slamming a gloved fist into the stone battlement. "He was supposed to kill them all inside the jail house."

  Between her assassin and the guards, the adventurers should have been easy prey. At least some of them should have died in jail, leaving only a few for the gnolls to finish off. It seemed, however, that nothing but error and folly had befallen her from the start. She was beginning to wonder if the tales of the staff really were true. It certainly seemed to have rattled Yauktul. He'd been useless since his return. He whimpered something about losing his finest troops to the enemy and, judging by the aim of those sniping from the roof, she was inclined to believe him.

  All she wanted was the staff's value in gold. Its magic could be damned, as far as she cared. She made a mental note never to work with a wizard again.

  Unwilling to peer over the parapet herself lest one of the victims recognized her, she looked over at the gnolls. Yauktul's tongue hung from the side of his snout. He even looked incompetent, Flint thought, nothing like the killer she'd sent out. At least he agreed with her on something. They had to be prepared for the unexpected once the jailbreak began, beyond just the crossbows. If he was useless in every other respect, at least the gnoll was good at agreeing.

  "Hold your fire," Flint said, motioning across her neck with a hand. "Let's move into the street. You're accomplishing nothing from here."

  The gnolls filed down a ladder into the building. Flint got to her knees and chanced a quick glance over the wall before joining them. She smiled as her foot hit the first rung and she disappeared into the hatch.

  Flint had seen the four dark shapes moving down the street toward her targets.

  19

  "I've been hit," Malthooz announced in disbelief.

  He groaned, feeling for the first time the full pain in his back just under his shoulder blade. The back of his tunic was stained red, a crimson patch growing slowly down his side as the blood leaked from the wound. The feathered end of a crossbow bolt stuck from his skin. The bolt was buried deep in his body, if the small tip still visible was an indication. His arm tingled and he felt himself losing sensation in his fingertips.

  Malthooz had felt the impact when the bolt hit, like being punched in the shoulder, but he'd thought someone had bumped into him. It was only when he slammed his back against the hard wall and felt the shaft grind inside his shoulder that he realized the truth.

  Krusk knelt down next to him and examined the wound. Malthooz howled as the barbarian probed with his finger inside the wound, feeling for the head of the missile.

  "It's gone in deep, too deep to get it out here," he said.

  The swarthy color was draining from Malthooz's face, and he slumped against the closed door. Krusk supported him as he slid down the wood, leaving a dark streak of blood down the rough surface.

  "No, it's best to leave it," Lidda said, with an edge of fear in her voice. "It'll slow the bleeding."

  "We have to find shelter quickly or we'll all be sprouting little sticks with feathers," Mialee said coldly, eyeing the street. "Maybe we can find an open building down by the wharves."

  "With who knows how many gnolls firing on us the whole way?" Vadania asked, slamming the wall with her fist in frustration. "We'd be cut to shreds."

  "What other choice do we have?" Lidda yelled at the druid.

  "Hsst." Krusk ran a hand across his throat, pointing with the other at the black-clad figures approaching from across the street. "We're out of time. There're no choices left to make."

  He let Malthooz down to the ground and propped him sitting up in the doorway. Malthooz sighed as his body came to rest on the cool stones. His eyes lost their focus and the fear on his face was replaced with a peaceful calm.

  "Go," he said, "leave me here. You can't help me and I can't help you."

  His head sank back against the wall and his hand slipped into the front of his shirt, where the wooden symbol of Pelor hung.

  The men in the street were drawing closer, closing in across the square toward the companions. Krusk could make out four of them. Their every movement was graceful. Too skilled, Krusk thought, to be part of the city watch.

  "The crossbows have stopped," Lidda said, peeking around the corner. "Too bad. Maybe they would have hit one of those killers by mistake." She moved into the street, drawing her sword.

  Krusk rested his hand against Malthooz's brow. The half-orc stirred at the touch of skin. His eyes opened and he lifted his head from the wall. His lips moved as though he was about to speak, but he had nothing to say. He just smiled at Krusk and let his head fall back against the wall.

  "I'll stay with him," Vadania said. She put her hand on Krusk's shoulder. "I'll do what I can. Lidda and Mialee need your help."

  A grim determination settled over Krusk. His concern for Malthooz slipped away as he felt the reassurance of anger overtaking his mind. The rage that had simmered all afternoon boiled to the surface. He had been tricked, cheated, and imprisoned. His friend, a half-orc like himself, was dying before Krusk's eyes. Someone was going to pay. He raised the axe above his head and erupted into the street.

  The four assassins fanned themselves out in the open street as Krusk flew past Lidda and bore down on them like a charging bull.

  Each of the men wielded a different weapon. The tallest of them brandished a katana and a small, spiked shield. Behind him came another swinging a long, spiked chain that he held by two circular handles that were equally spaced from the fist-sized, spiked balls at either end of the chain. The spikes on the chain were matched by those the man wore strapped on
his hands. The last two moved almost as though they were one. They were identical by all appearance, the similarity following through even to the long, curved daggers they held in each of their hands. The assassins stepped up to meet Krusk's charge as the barbarian thundered across the space between them.

  Krusk's axe met the assassin's katana in a ringing of steel and a shower of sparks. Instantly the man crouched down, deflecting Krusk's weapon to the side then swinging his blade back at the barbarian as he rolled away. It was a defensive strike with little power, and Krusk simply let the blow land. He wasn't interested in defending himself, only in attacking. The katana struck his armor, sliced through the leather, and bit a shallow gash across the half-orc's ribs. Without pausing or flinching, Krusk spun to face the circling assassin.

  The barbarian's heavy axe was no match for the swiftness of the man's sword, nor was Krusk half as agile. The barbarian moved in on the swordsman with his full bulk, ignoring the katana while he set up a smashing blow. The assassin held his weapon ready, backing away as the barbarian came on.

  Krusk rushed in with his axe held high over his head. He knew he was leaving himself wide open to the man's attack, but he also knew that the pinprick of the sword would never stop him before his axe split the man's skull. The assassin thrust his blade as he dodged to the side, away from the sweeping axe. Krusk felt the weapon slice his thigh as he rushed past.

  The cut felt like no more than a sting through Krusk's rage. He spun again and rushed back, much faster than the assassin expected. Again the man tried to dodge and slash, but Krusk had just seen that maneuver. With a slight twist, he let the katana bite into the heavy leather protecting his gut. The keen edge sliced into the armor just deep enough to draw blood, and there it lodged. Realization froze the assassin for only a split-second, but that was all Krusk wanted. His axe whistled downward, cleaving through the swordsman's right shoulder, ribs, and spine, stopping only when it struck the pelvis. The body peeled away in a butchered mess on the pavement. A quick snatch freed the shivering katana from Krusk's armor. With a sneer, the barbarian set the tip against the pavement and stomped on the blade, shattering it into slivers.

  The twins circled to either side of Lidda in an obvious attempt to flank the rogue. Obvious, but effective, she thought. She would have to choose one to attack, and when she did, the other would stab her in the back. No subtlety needed. Lidda backed up, biting her lip, trying to buy some time. She couldn't allow one of them to get behind her.

  She spun suddenly toward the assassin moving to her right. She took three quick steps forward, waving her sword arm in an obvious threat while her left hand slipped a throwing dagger from the sheath on her thigh. Instead of giving ground as she hoped, the man grinned and stepped ahead to meet her challenge, his twin daggers crossed in front of his chest defensively.

  "I should have guessed that you wouldn't opt for even odds," Lidda said to the approaching twin. Before he could respond in any way, she spun and threw the dagger into the throat of his partner, who had advanced silently to within only feet of her unprotected back. Without a pause, she was again facing the first antagonist. "You should know that I have tricks of my own."

  Behind her, the man gurgled and clutched at the knife hilt protruding from his throat. He would have screamed, but the blade was blocking his windpipe. Desperately, he wrenched the weapon from the wound. Blood gushed over the front of his black armor and flooded down the severed windpipe into his lungs. He stumbled backward, letting the knife clatter to the pavement. After two more steps, he fell to the street. His whole frame convulsed with the effort of fighting to get air into his drowning lungs. Lidda heard the commotion and knew that it would continue for a few minutes before the assassin finally blacked out, but he was no threat in that condition.

  She grinned and asked, "What do you think of the odds now?"

  The man spat,"Only that he was the lesser of us, so the odds haven't changed as much as you think."

  At close range, Lidda could see that the two men definitely were twins. The man's coldness over his brother's death chilled her and brought Malthooz back to her mind. She understood that she faced a cruel and calculating killer. The man approached slowly, not rushing to within reach of Lidda's sword. He held one dagger close and near his chest as though it was a shield while he threatened Lidda's defenses with the other. Even armed only with daggers, his arms were long enough to equal Lidda's reach with her sword. With a rapid slash, he swept both knives at the halfling. He was quick as a snake, and Lidda hadn't expected him to use the left-hand dagger so deftly. She dodged one blade by lunging sideways and caught the other with the hilt of her sword. A savage twist sent the stiletto spinning harmlessly away, and she threw her boot up and into the man's ribcage.

  She felt more than heard the ribs crack and winced as a streak of pain went up her own side, a reminder from her tangle at the jail. Shrugging off the pain, she tumbled to the side of the man as he spun around. Somehow he had two daggers again, and he slashed with both of them a second time. At the last moment he flipped the weapon in his left hand. The butt of the knife hit the halfling across the jaw. Lidda turned her head with the strike to lessen the effect of the blow but felt the heat of pain spread across her cheek where the pommel of the dagger connected.

  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 jumpd 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.