Treachery's wake

21

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 and 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.