Krusk snorted.
"The rest of us will fan out," Mialee said. "Vadania and I can cover you with bows and slings if need be. Krusk and Malthooz can move in close in case things get hairy. Remember that there might be other guards."
"Check," the rogue said, raising the hood of her cloak.
She slipped off toward the camp, a shadow among shadows, and crept around behind the largest of the tents, keeping herself pressed low to the ground. She felt the warm burn of her thigh muscles tensing as she concentrated on her movement. It was good to be alone. She breathed in the night air. It wasn't that she didn't like her companions. She just needed some space to herself once in a while. Especially when she was facing a task like the present one, she liked to work solo.
She thought about what an association with the guild might mean for her. It would be as official a recognition of her skills as she could hope for. She would still be operating in gray areas as far as the law was concerned, but she'd be able to leave behind the petty theft and pickpocketing. Her work would gain official sanction, for lack of a better way to put it. At least among certain circles, that is. New contacts within the underground network in Newcoast alone would be worth the hardship. She wasn't sure that her companions would see it the same way. She knew how Krusk felt about it, anyway.
The large tent stood a few yards from where she was. The distance was not too great, and the remaining guards had their backs turned to her. Lidda covered the distance to the main tent in three quick steps. The mass of the pavilion separated her from the gnolls still drinking around the fire. Lidda pressed herself against the rough surface of the tent, feeling its uneven surface brush the side of her cheek. She put her ear to the canvas but heard nothing. Not a sound emerged from inside. She took a deep breath, letting the sweet, pine scent of the forest calm her. She glanced back to her companions and made her move.
Dropping to the ground alongside the tent, she lifted the edge of the cover and peered inside. The interior was almost black, and it took a few moments for the rogue's eyes to adjust to the darkness. A dim glow streamed through an opening in the ceiling. It must have functioned as a chimney of sorts, she thought. Red coals glowed in the fire pit in the center of the room, but the flames of the blaze had long since gone out. Slowly, she began to make out more of the details of the space.
From her vantage point, Lidda could discern the shape of a gnoll sleeping atop a crude cot. A table and chair sat on the far side of the room, remnants of the gnoll's last meal littering the surface. A chalice lay on its side next to the scraps of food, its contents nothing more than a dark puddle on the floor. A large wooden chest sat just to the side of the creature's bed. She studied the bands of reinforcing steel that ringed the trunk. Lidda would wager her share of the take that whatever was inside was what she was after.
She paused. Something about the room bothered her. Something about it didn't make sense. The gnolls didn't seem settled enough to be permanent residents at the camp, but the tent was too well equipped to be the home of a nomad. She was overanalyzing, she told herself. Lidda pushed her doubts aside. She was there for one reason and one reason alone.
She crawled into the tent and moved past the sleeping gnoll toward the chest. She would normally have slit the monster's throat. Something held her back, though. It would have been an easy kill. Was it the thought of being caught by the creature's companions outside that held her back, she wondered? She shook her head. That wasn't it. It was almost as though she felt Eva Flint scrutinizing her every move and had to prove to the guild master that she could pull off the heist without resorting to her dagger. Lidda stopped herself. She was letting her ego get the better of her work. She paused for a moment to regain her concentration before she crawled the final few feet.
The chest didn't look like anything special. The lock appeared simple enough. Lidda pulled a slender steel wire from inside her cloak and inserted it into the opening on the front of the trunk. She jiggled the tool carefully, feeling for the telltale sign of a trapping mechanism. The thin steel wire acted as an extension of her fingers. Years of training and practice allowed the halfling to interpret the subtle messages she felt through the instrument. She could feel the workings of the lock but felt no other triggers or catches. She removed the tool, satisfied that the mechanism was clean.
Lidda pulled a more substantial utensil from her cloak. The pick looked like a key but was larger, with multiple nodules and bumps running the length of its shaft. Lidda worked it back and forth slowly inside the lock, feeling a slight bounce as each of the mechanism's cams dropped into place. One after another, she worked them into the proper grooves. As the last one was finessed into place, the lock opened with a click. Lidda slid a clasp from the loop of steel holding the latch of the chest closed and raised the lid slightly.
Deep within sat a wooden box that was just under three feet long. Its surface was dark brown with thick lines of growth showing in the grain. It had been sanded smooth. The innate markings in the wood were accented with silver paint, turning its natural imagery into something entirely different. Demonic faces stared at Lidda from the top of the box, glowing in the pale light that filtered through the top of the tent. The images shimmered and changed as she watched them. The faces became dragons and the dragons became the faces of people she'd known. Tiny spiders, their legs as thin as thread, danced across the surface as ocean waves lapped along the edges of the box. Mountains rose and fell. Time seemed to stop, and to accelerate, all at once.
Lidda shook her head. What kind of trickery is this? she thought.
She looked around the room, unsure how long she'd been held in thrall by the phantasms in the trunk. The gnoll slept on its cot, snoring quietly, and the embers in the fire pit still glowed a dull orange-red. She had been staring for only a few minutes at most.
As her hand hit the top of the thing, the swirling patterns stopped. Curious, she thought, as she lifted the box gingerly from the bottom of the chest. It was not as heavy as she expected it to be. The wood alone should have weighed several pounds, yet the whole thing was as light as a single crossbow bolt. Everything about the item was wondrous. The rogue couldn't imagine the worth of the container, let alone what rested inside. She cleared the lid of the trunk and turned to go.
As she moved away, a single, clear chime sounded. It was not loud, but in the silence of the tent it was a clamor. Lidda jumped to her feet. She noticed a small piece of delicate string running from the bottom of the treasure to a silver bell suspended in a corner of the trunk.
"Damn," she cursed her own stupidity under her breath.
On guard for a much more ingenious or perhaps magical trap, she'd been betrayed by this simple and elegant mechanism. She heard the gnoll stirring behind her. Holding her prize under her arm, she darted for the entrance flap.
Krusk saw Lidda emerge from the flap of the tent in a sprint. She frantically scanned the camp. A howl went up from within the canvas shelter, where Lidda had just been. The barbarian knew that trouble was on the way.
He hefted his axe. The heady rush of a good fight would be welcome. He looked back at Mialee and Vadania. The women were startled by the sudden sound of the gnoll's yell. Malthooz stood up beside Krusk. His eyes were wide. He held the quarterstaff in his hand but tossed it aside and grabbed the club from his belt. The symbol of Pelor dangled exposed from the cord around his neck.
Krusk whistled to Lidda, and she started toward the bushes where the half-orcs were hiding.
He turned to Malthooz and whispered, "Now you'll get your first taste of battle. Keep close to the halfling, and remember what I taught you."