Treachery's wake

24

Epilogue…The companions hustled away from Newcoast as the ocean was blazing with the orange light of the setting sun. Black smoke still obscured the eastern sky. It hung like a blanket in the thin, still air. She was glad that the whole place hadn't gone up in flames. She turned onto the trail that led to the Deepwood with the rest of her companions, the weight of Wotherwill's staff bouncing in the center of her shoulder blades.

None of them had any way of knowing how long it would be before the evidence of their fight with Flint and her forces would lead to their pursuit, or if it ever would. They had even less of an idea who might take up their trail. Corruption ran to the highest levels and the deepest coffers of the city government; that much was more than apparent. Between the city authorities and the guild, the only thing that would be certain was mistrust.

It was assumed that they had no allies at this point, no one to turn to if they were caught. None of them were eager to protest their innocence. They wanted to place as much distance between themselves and Newcoast as they could.

They made no attempt to conceal their passage. Distance, not stealth, seemed their best friend. They wound their way, in the early evening hours, across the rolling farmlands and into the edge of Deepwood.

Krusk carried Malthooz's shrouded body on a makeshift litter that he dragged behind himself. He showed little emotion. Vadania knew that he mourned in his own way. The druid studied Krusk as he trudged along. He wore the symbol of Pelor around his neck again, even though Vadania knew that Krusk had no interest in converting. She didn't know whether the wooden trinket eased his pain, or if he saw it as a talisman against evil spirits. The others left the barbarian alone in his silence, each of them dealing with their friend's passing in their own private way.

They traveled for three days, back to the beach where the splintered remains of Treachery still rested half-buried on the beach. Bits of the hull littered the high water mark, heavy and swollen with sea water, almost indistinguishable from other, unrelated pieces of driftwood. Most of the vessel remained in place-a little more battered, a little more deeply settled in the shifting sand.

Krusk set to work immediately. He attacked the wreckage with his axe, taking revenge on it for all the unresolved wrongs of the previous weeks. When he had finally swung his arms to exhaustion, he gathered the timbers and piled them on the sand. With rope from the fallen rigging, he crafted a makeshift raft in the dying hours of the day.

Vadania and the other women watched the barbarian tie the last knot on his raft, then they helped him carry the wrapped form of Malthooz to it as the tide peaked around its forward edge. Krusk wedged the tattered head of the guild master under Malthooz's feet. He started to lift the symbol of Pelor from his chest but let it fall back again. Instead, he turned away and fetched a burning brand from the fire.

As he returned to the raft with the torch, Krusk saw Vadania adding something else next to Flint's head-Wotherwill's staff.

Krusk growled, "That thing is a desecration. Take it away."

Vadania stood her ground, so Krusk stepped forward and reached for the staff.

"Leave it, Krusk," Vadania commanded, and she stepped in his way. "This isn't only about you. It's for all of us."

Krusk's eyes narrowed on the druid's face. His hand tightened into a fist. Seeing it, Mialee and Lidda rushed to the druid's side.

"Don't do this, Krusk," Lidda hissed.

The rogue folded her arms across her chest and stood next to Vadania. Mialee stood to the druid's other side. Together, the three women formed a wall against the barbarian.

The druid held out her hand, but Krusk shook his massive head. Vadania stepped forward and lifted the symbol of Pelor from around Krusk's neck. She wrapped the cord of the trinket around the wizard's staff.

"This is how it must be," she said, backing away from the raft.

Still scowling, Krusk stepped forward with the burning brand thrust ahead. The flame sputtered weakly in the sea breeze. Vadania reached out her hand and placed it on the torch, just ahead of Krusk's. She intoned an arcane phrase and the small yellow flame grew into a white blaze. Together they touched it to the planks and the flames raced across the raft. With a mighty shove, Krusk pushed the mass of wood into the receding tide.

They watched in silence as the blazing raft floated out on the waves. The orange flames that engulfed it melted into the reds and pinks of the sunset. Eventually the flames and the sea met in a confrontation of steam and smoke, and the remnants of the raft swirled from their view.

None of them said a thing as they returned to their tiny campfire. One by one, the women curled into their blankets and fell to sleep.

Krusk stayed up longer, gazing into the fire and reflecting on the events of the past few weeks. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, he rose and opened his own bedroll, but he didn't lie down. Instead he withdrew a slender wooden club, the one he'd fashioned for Malthooz. He held it for a while, remembering another night when he sat up late by a fire, making the weapon.

Krusk turned and set the club on the waning coals. He watched until the embers ignited the weapon. It flared brightly, sending tiny tongues of flame and glowing sparks upward into the dark sky, but it quickly burned down into a flickering line, then crumbled among the embers.