Treachery's wake

3

The wind and snow tapered off during the night but not before draping the city beneath a fresh blanket of white. The five companions moved down the empty streets of Newcoast under cover of the predawn darkness. The guards hardly gave the group a second glance as it passed between two tall, wooden towers and beneath the open portcullis of the city's western gatehouse.

The road from the city wound through outlying fields and farms, homesteads that kept the city fed, and fueled much of the trade that occurred inside its walls. At the edge of the horizon to the west, the road disappeared into the forest of Deepwood and eventually made its way to the coast beyond.

They were on their way to meet the wizard Horace Wotherwill. Lidda had arranged the meeting through the guild even before returning to the inn the evening before, a bit of presumption that bothered Krusk more than anyone else. That, and the guild's usual insistence on utter secrecy in this, as in all its dealings. Krusk was convinced that the whole affair would end in serious trouble.

Malthooz walked beside him. Sweat speckled his forehead and his breathing was quick and shallow though they had come only a few miles. Krusk exhaled, each breath a thick huff of steam. His brow was furrowed in disgust, though it wasn't the frigid air that upset him.

"You carry too many books in your pack," Krusk said. "You won't get far with so much worthless paper weighing you down."

Malthooz's reply was flat and emotionless. "I made it as far as Newcoast, I'll make it as far as I need. Why don't you just admit that you don't want me along because my presence reminds you of duties that you'd rather ignore?"

Krusk laughed. "Duties, you say? My only duty now is to protect you-as if looking out for the women was not enough. You shouldn't have come with us."

"Hey," Mialee said, quickening her pace and coming alongside the half-orcs. "Don't give yourself too much credit, Krusk. We ladies can care for ourselves, and I'm sure Malthooz can do the same."

She shot Malthooz a quick wink.

Krusk grunted, "We'll see."

As the morning wore on, the terrain they passed through grew less populated. Family farms dotted the rolling hills. A few lonely souls gathered firewood or tended to pitiful herds, but most were either too busy or too weary to acknowledge the group's passing.

Wotherwill's hut sat on the far boundaries of the city. It was one of the last, scattered, tiny cottages marking the edge of Newcoast's influence. Beyond lay the thick forest of Deepwood. The wizard's shack stood out in odd contrast to the drifted snow piled almost to its windows. It was a squat, stout building made of logs from the nearby woods. A circular window sat on either side of the covered porch in front of the home. Thin curls of smoke rose from the chimney. Heat from the bricks melted snow from the roof, sending a trickle of water down the shingles to form icy spears on the eaves.

After the bustle of the city, Krusk appreciated the dwelling's humble and unpretentious look.

The wizard welcomed the companions into his home. The reek of old leather and the sweet smell of aging parchment, no doubt from the overstuffed bookshelves lining the walls, filled Krusk's nose. A wood-burning stove sat in one corner of the hut's single room. A copper teapot bubbled gently atop it, wafting ribbons of steam. Wotherwill's bed took up another corner, while a desk and chair occupied the last. An oak table dominated the center of the room. Despite its small size, the place looked comfortable enough.

"I'm glad you've come," the wizard said as the companions filed in. "The loss of the artifact has been a grave concern to me and I am eager to have it in my possession."

He sat in a chair at the head of the table and beckoned the others to take a seat. Krusk eyed the rickety furniture.

"It will hold, half-orc. Though it looks to lack physical strength, it has been magically enhanced."

The barbarian sat down and found the chair to be remarkably sound.

Wotherwill continued, "I've worked with Lady Flint before and trust her judgment." He turned to Lidda. "I understand this will be your first assignment for the guild?"

The rogue nodded.

"Eva told me she's had her eye on you for some time. She thinks you can be trusted." He looked over each of the companions in turn, pausing to stare at Malthooz a bit longer than the others. "You seem out of place, half-orc. I don't remember Eva mentioning a pair of you?"

"He's with us," Krusk jumped in. "He's all right."

Lidda nodded.

"So be it." The wizard took a sip of his tea before continuing, "The staff you seek is of timeless design and ancient power. Many foolhardy warriors have lost their lives trying to claim it for their own. Myself, I have devoted a goodly portion of my life to its recovery. Just last autumn my work came to fruition.

"Two centuries ago, a baron named Vernon Ghaldarous stole a powerful staff from a traveling mage. Ghaldarous' goons sneaked into the man's tent as he slept and slit his throat. They took the staff and tossed his body into the bay. Unfortunately for the baron, the mage placed a curse upon the staff that would turn its magic back upon itself in anyone's hands but his own. The power to influence and befriend even the most stubborn of people turned the baron's allies against him and his enemies into allies. He found himself attracting the most unappealing friends as the power of the staff altered and changed. Evil and deceit soon surrounded him. Life became a cruel game of survival as his new acquaintances coveted the staff for themselves. Attempts on his life became a daily occurrence. Eventually he fled into the icy wastes of northern Auralis and disappeared.

"Over the years, many have sought the staff for their own, both with hopes of raising armies of evil and hopes of restoring the cursed item to its previous state. Until recently, no one succeeded in locating the relic." Wotherwill paused for another sip of tea. "I lost my own son to the search when his party was besieged by a band of frost giants. Only two of the original ten survived.

"Two weeks ago, the ship Treachery left the town of Umberton in northern Auralis, with the survivors and the staff. It never arrived here and I am convinced that the staff lies within the wreckage."

"Bah," Vadania spat, "there'll be nothing left but swollen timbers by the time we arrive. The coast swarms with bandits and orcs. It's sure to have been looted."

"That might be true, druid, but I'd wager my life that none of them possesses the key to unlock the wards placed upon the chest that holds the staff."

Wotherwill reached into his tunic and retrieved a slender, silver chain. Dangling from its end was a small, obsidian trinket in the shape of a dragon taking flight. He set the necklace on the table.

Mialee grabbed the thing.

"Strangest key I've ever seen," she said, turning the figurine over in her hand.

"It will open the box that holds the staff," Wotherwill said. "Nothing else in existence will. Its creation was one of the baron's final acts. Whether he hoped to keep the staff from ever doing harm again, or suffered delusions of somehow using it after death, we will never know. His journal gave no clue, but it did lead me to the key."

"And you trust it to us?" Krusk asked, scowling.

"It stays with me, half-orc. Call it insurance against another theft. Or against your failure."

"Why not go yourself?" Lidda asked. "You seem capable enough. Surely if you plan on using the staff you have the magic necessary to see yourself safely to the wreck and back."

"You flatter me, thief, but age is quickly catching up with me. I'd rather save myself for study. That's my interest. I am not so vain as to think that I could use the staff myself."

Wotherwill finished his tea and rose from the table. He took the dragon key and moved to a cupboard on the wall, where he dropped the key into a small chest on the shelf and closed the lid.

"If you return the staff to me, you will be well rewarded for your efforts."

"Now you talk sense," Krusk said, "though I still don't like the sound of this. Why is the thieves guild involved?"

"I'll not risk the task to just any band of adventurers, barbarian. You might understand why I want to keep word of the job quiet. Working with the guild is as strong an assurance of silence as I can get."

Krusk looked around the table. Lidda's face was impossible to read. He knew that she was eager to earn the favor of a guild. He couldn't blame her, but he knew where she stood as a result of her enthusiasm. Malthooz stared at the rows of books on the wall. Vadania, at least, seemed to share his skepticism.

"And you only hope to study?" she asked.

"The item would be discovered eventually. Better that it rest in the hands of one who understands its power than fall into the wrong ones. You of all people should know this, druid."

"What's the guild's cut," Lidda asked, running her fingers along a groove in the tabletop.

"Enough to keep hush," Wotherwill replied. "Yours is enough to ensure that I can find others if you don't want the work." He paused, then added almost as an afterthought, "Though you probably know too much already."

Krusk rose and reached for the handle of his axe.

Wotherwill stepped away from the cupboard, one hand sligthly raised.

"You don't want to go there, friend" he said.

Lidda rose from the table, glaring at Krusk, and said, "We'll take the job."

Krusk shook his head in resignation.

Wotherwill nodded.

"I thought that you would," he said.