Good work, she signalled, I'll be in touch.
Eva Flint pushed her chair back, tipping it up on two legs and setting her boots on the desk. She slid a dagger from under the seat and was carelessly running her finger along the blade as Yauktul was shown into the room. She motioned the commander to a seat with a flick of the blade. The gnoll looked nervously over his shoulders, at both Flint and the departing doorman, as he moved across the room. When the door clicked behind the doorman, Yauktul fell to his knees.
"It was not my fault," he whimpered.
Eva looked at the creature with disgust.
"Get up," she said. "Your presence repulses me, so I would keep this short."
The chair slammed back to the ground as the guild master lunged forward and slammed her blade into the desk. Yauktul yelped and drew back, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to bolt from the room.
Eva got up from her seat and moved around the front of the desk. Yauktul cringed as she brought her hand down on his head to stroke the crest of hair that crowned it. She cooed to the creature as she petted him.
"Yauktul, Yauktul," she tisked.
She grabbed a handful of fur and yanked. The commander's neck snapped back as his eyes were brought into line with hers.
"You failed me," she said, pulling harder on the creature's fur, craning his neck farther.
Yauktul whimpered and Eva let go. The gnoll commander's eyes fell back to the floor. She scrubbed the front of her breeches to wipe the gnoll's musky scent off her hand.
Pitiful, she thought, that such a being would be considered a leader among its own kind.
It had a small aptitude for the art of magic, and she'd interpreted that as a sign of intelligence. She never should have trusted the damned thing, but she had too much time, gold, and effort invested in this undertaking to watch the treasure slip from her grasp. She had to make one last effort.
"You can still make it up to me," Flint said, stroking the gnoll's head again.
The guild master walked back to her desk and leaned against it.
"You," she said, turning back to Yauktul, "know what you have to do."
She lifted the dagger from the desk and hurled it to the floor near the gnoll's clawed foot. Yauktul jumped back when the tip of the blade struck and clattered across the stone floor.
"This time, failure is not an option if you value your life. Now get out of my sight."
The gnoll rushed to the door and disappeared into the hallway. Eva returned to her seat. She lowered herself into the chair slowly, calmly, then slammed her fist on the desk. It would be impossible to keep the city's officials away from this. Wotherwill only pretended to be a hermit, she knew. He was well connected within the circles of the city's gentry. His political ties alone outweighed the worth of the staff in her estimation, and they made him more dangerous than his magic, which was considerable. There had always been risk, but more was at stake. Too much more to even consider backing out. Whatever Wotherwill's connections and power, her chief clients were wealthier and better connected than he would ever be. Eva smiled to herself. The rogue and her companions would prove to be of use yet.
It was a pity, she mused. She was starting to like the halfling.
14
The scene at the Bung and Blade that evening was raucous to say the least. The whole of the company was warm with the intoxication of ale, and even Krusk loosened up after half a dozen rounds. Mialee stopped the barbarian from ordering drinks for the entire waterfront, cringing at the thought of an army of acquired friends.
"We don't need to advertise our fortune to the world," Mialee murmured, looking around the pub.
Dozens of rowdy sailors filled the place from wall to wall. A trio of them stood on a table on the far side of the room trying to rouse the assembled rabble into song. So far, they'd only managed to stir up a handful of glares.
Malthooz was face down on the table. It hadn't taken much to put him under. Mialee felt bad for the half-orc. He tried to match the rest of the company and it wasn't long before he was talking wildly about his plans to bring his powers back to the village and replace the shaman with a new order of healers, with him at the head. Krusk egged him on as probably only he could have, though the wizard believed it had less to do with spite or jest than with the empty tankards piled high in front of the barbarian. Krusk had also convinced Malthooz that heavy drinking was his birthright, something required by his blood. The more they drank, the louder they became, until Malthooz collapsed in mid-bellow. Even the sailors were beginning to get exasperated by the time Malthooz passed out. Vadania did her best to hide the unconscious half-orc behind her backpack.
As the night wore on, the mood grew more sour.
"I wish I had slit that gnoll's throat when I had the chance," Lidda said, stuffing her mouth full of fried potatoes. "Flint said there's a bounty on them. She says the city pays fifty gold a head."
Krusk looked up from his plate and growled, "I told you from the start that we shouldn't get ourselves mixed up with the thieves guild." He pushed his plate away. "Those cutthroats have no regard for anyone but themselves and their own purses."
"Well, they didn't hurt our cause too much," Mialee said.
She had the parchment Lidda found at the camp spread out on the table in front of her, and she was glancing at it between bites.
Krusk grunted, "Suit yourself. I'll have nothing more to do with them."
Vadania glanced down at Mialee's scroll.
"Have you figured out what that does yet?" she asked.
The wizard shook her head and replied, "No, but I will, once I have the chance to really study it." She stuffed it back into a hollow bone tube. "This isn't the place for it, though."
"Suit yourself, yourself, Krusk," Lidda said. "I think I'll be seeing more work from the guild."
Malthooz awoke with a throbbing in his head unlike any he'd ever felt before. It was even sharper than the headache he suffered after his run-in with the crab. He reached down for the symbol of Pelor, hoping it might offer some relief, but the wooden disk did nothing to quell his discomfort. He rolled over and sat up. A ray of sunlight came through the window. When it struck his eyes, another bolt of pain shot through his skull. He must have slept away half the morning. Krusk's bed was empty, and the women were probably up as well.
He tried to remember what happened the previous evening. There were vague recollections of a fight with Krusk, trying to talk the barbarian into going north with him. It hadn't gone well. Malthooz shook his head and pulled on his boots. He wasn't looking forward to leaving, even though he felt that it was time to go. He'd grown to appreciate the others' company. At the beginning of the journey he'd felt like nothing but useless baggage, but since the battle with the gnolls, he felt like he was a part of the group. Still, he had no answers to his important questions, and he was sure that the village needed him, now more than ever. Stiffly, Malthooz got up and made his way to the stairs.
The rooms of the inn were on the second floor of the building. A flight of steps ran from the center of the common room up to a long balcony that overlooked the pub below. Malthooz stumbled to the railing and spotted his friends sitting at a table in the corner. Gripping the handrail tightly, he picked his way carefully to the lower room.
"Rough night?" Lidda asked with a grin as he advanced unsteadily across the floor.
Malthooz grunted, but words were not quick to come. Krusk looked up at him as he took a seat next to Vadania.
"I need to teach you to hold your drink like you hold your club," he said.
Malthooz was relieved that Krusk didn't seem upset over the conversation from the night before. He grinned at the barbarian.