They found Malthooz and the druid waiting quietly in the doorway. Mialee was relieved to see that they had not been attacked or disturbed by any other assailants. Her relief faded as she stepped into the doorway, and disappeared entirely when she saw the grim look on Vadania's face.
"It is not good," the druid said as the three approached.
Malthooz lay against the door. His eyes were closed. A ragged bandage torn from the druid's cloak was wrapped around his chest. The bolt, still shiny with the half-orc's blood, lay on the cobblestones a few feet away. Mialee saw the shallow rise and fall of Malthooz's ribs. At least he's still alive, she thought. He stirred as they drew close.
"I've done all I can for him," Vadania said. "Without more magic, I can offer him little. My herbs can only do so much."
Malthooz smiled at the sight of his friends. His mouth moved, but his breath was too shallow to actually speak. He reached for the symbol of Pelor on his chest and raised it shakily. He wanted to remove it, but his head was against the wall. Krusk took his hand and cradled Malthooz's head away from the wall with his other arm, then he lifted the cord that held the holy symbol over his friend's head and handed it to him. Malthooz smiled.
"Thank you," he mouthed, nodding at Krusk's open hand.
Malthooz fingered the disk for a moment, then offered the symbol to Krusk.
"Take it," Vadania said when Krusk hesitated.
The barbarian took the thing from Malthooz's hand and placed it around his own neck. Malthooz smiled broadly.
Eva Flint rounded the corner of the building and stepped into the street. She fell back immediately into the shadow, startled at the sight that befell her. Her assassins lay in broken heaps on the slush-covered cobblestones, their weapons scattered amidst the red snow. The adventurers were again huddled in the doorway where the gnolls had penned them with their crossbows.
She cursed them, thinking about how deep a hole she'd dug herself into. Her judgment of her foes could not have been more wrong. She spat. There were four more bodies to explain, on top of Wotherwill's and likely a handful of jailhouse guards. The guild master wasn't sure that the favors she was owed would cover a scandal so big. The mayor might even decide that she was becoming an embarrassment, too much of a liability, and try to shut down the guild for a few months. That would be a disaster.
The guild master watched her enemies moving off, the barbarian holding the limp body of the other half-orc in his arms. They were walking away from her, toward the far side of the jailhouse. She sneered contemptuously, thinking of all of the planning and effort that managed to kill only one of the five, and it was the feeble one at that.
She grabbed Yauktul by the throat.
"This is the ultimate test," she said. Still gripping the terrified gnoll, she drew the staff from her belt and pressed it into the creature's shaking paws. "Take this damned thing, and don't fail me now."
The gnoll clutched the device to his chest, whimpering and cooing to it as he rubbed the globe on the top of the shaft. The yellow slits of his eyes glassed over and he mouthed silent words to himself.
Flint cursed Wotherwill's name. The artifact had brought her nothing but pain and humiliation, and she was ready to be done with it. It was no longer worth the trouble it caused. Besides, the guild master thought, she had other resources to fall back upon. The staff was worth a lot, surely, but not enough. If she was going to make a clean break from Newcoast, she didn't want the cursed staff spoiling everything all over again.
She patted Yauktul's head. "Get them, my pet. They are the ones who took your treasure, and they will take it again unless you stop them."
The gnoll growled and bared his fangs at Flint's words. His arms hugged the staff more tightly to his chest. Flint stepped back from the pair. She could feel the raw lust to kill radiating from the creature's eyes, now that they were no longer clouded with indecision.
Flint pointed Yauktul out into the street. His row of troops padded chaotically behind their commander, all of them showing the effect of the staff's proximity with their snarling and snapping at one another as each tried move as close as possible to the magical staff. The guild master studied the group coldly. She shook her head. They looked nothing like the savage but disciplined pack she'd dealt with in the past. The staff's presence had twisted them into a mob of slavering incompetents. She had little faith that they would be able to stop the adventurers from escaping.
Flint spun around and bolted for the alleyway. She knew she'd never be able to clear up the mess with the city. It was time for her to leave town. She would be glad to be rid of them all, gnolls and heroes alike. It would be hours before the extent of the night's activities were revealed. Plenty of time to wrap up loose ends and get far away.
20
Waves of hatred flowed through Yauktul's veins. He watched the companions moving down the road through squinting eyelids as he muttered to himself. Another sound cut through his own soft voice, a buzz of whispered words that echoed through the creature's clouded mind.
Must kill.
He shook his head and looked at his men, but none of them seemed to have heard the voices in his head. The commander waved the artifact to his men, urging them forward. The troopers shuffled along the paved street, following behind the fleeing company.
Yauktul had seen what the group was capable of, how they'd wiped out his elite guard at the camp in the Deepwood as he himself fled into the forest, how they killed the ettin and cut through the rest of his company as though they were nothing. Yes, Yauktul had seen what the group was capable of. He was not eager to face them again.
He commanded his men to stop as another thought hit him between the eyes, causing his legs to twitch and setting his teeth to grinding. The words came more strongly this time, pushing all other thoughts aside.
Must Flee.
Yauktul wanted to get away from the whole affair. The voice urged him to return to the forest, return to the simpler days before he met the guild master and fell into her web of power. He could live in peace in the forest with his new treasure, and keep it safe. Flint promised him wealth and power beyond his wildest dreams, but until the staff was in his hands, hed seen little to compensate for his hardships and loss. If he left now, everything would be better.
Yauktul remembered what it felt like to be so near the object as hed carried it from the shipwreck to his camp. The sense of power and wellness that he experienced as it sat in the chest in his tent, the calm it brought him and the lust for murder that its loss invoked. The guild master's face flashed through his mind and the words came back.
Must obey.
Images of the woman filled his brain with a longing for blood. He whimpered softly as he thought of crushing Flint's head with the staff. He could almost feel the side of the thing hitting the woman's skull. He would take the thieves guild for himself, he thought. He'd seen the power and influence that Flint commanded. Yauktul licked his lips. He could control it all. The words raced through his head, tumbling in on top of the others until they were just a steady hum of conflicting directives.
The creature clutched Wotherwill's staff tighter to himself. He paused. Then came the strongest urge.
Must flee.
The words pounded through him, swirling with a force that almost drove him to his knees. Yauktul turned aside for a moment, looking at the brightening sky as he thought of the freedom of the wild. He turned back to face his pack. His troops tared at their commander, waiting for him to give a command, any command. They needed him to lead them, the staff told him, they needed him to give them purpose. They needed him to tell them to kill. Yauktul pawed at the staff.