Treachery's wake

6

The morning sun burned through the fog shrouding the beaches of the northern Fell Coast, bringing with it the promise of a warmer day. White sand formed a gentle slope stretching away on their left, meeting the ocean a hundred yards beyond.

Vadania thought they should have journeyed farther into the woods, but Mialee and Lidda were eager to leave the darkness behind and Krusk didn't want to waste time looking for another path. The druid's eyes strayed skyward every few minutes.

"We would be wise to stay near the forest edge," she said, her voice flat.

"Rocs," she added, in answer to Malthooz's puzzled look. "Giant and vicious avians that frequent coastal areas. They scavenge by day and eat anything. The sea cliffs to the north are probably filled with them."

The half-orc shuddered, looking at the towering walls of stone in the distance. The encounter with the troll was still fresh in his mind.

"If we keep to the cover of the trees we will be all right," Vadania said. "Most of the birds have migrated south by this time of year. Only the few too old to leave remain." She glanced up again. "They are still deadly, however."

They camped on the beach that evening. Vadania didn't think they were in any danger after dark. Even so, they camped under a low-hanging tree in the crook of two large logs of driftwood.

Malthooz sat away from the fire and the others, his back turned to them. He could hear Mialee and Lidda talking to Krusk in hushed tones. From the sound of it, it was not a pleasant conversation. Malthooz guessed that they were scolding the barbarian about his attitude, which had not improved since the fight in the woods. Whatever the case, he didn't think that any of them would pay much heed to him.

He grabbed the worn leather backpack that sat in front of him and drew it up between his booted feet, then rummaged through books and parchments to get at the wooden symbol lying in the bottom of the pack. The words of the disciple of Pelor who gave it to him ran through his head: "You lack faith, Malthooz. Faith in what you are."

His hands fell upon the uneven surface of the small wooden disc. He pulled it from the pack and set it on the ground at his feet. The center was raised in the pattern of a rising sun. It was a simple design but it was crafted to flow with the natural grain of the tree it was made from. Its simplicity was beautiful. The cleric told him that the symbol was a key to his power. As much as Malthooz wanted to believe it, he still just saw it as a lifeless chunk of wood.

The sound of footsteps in the sand behind him alerted Malthooz. He threw the symbol into his pack and tossed the bag aside.

"Still rummaging through those books?" Lidda's voice broke the stillness. She came up behind Malthooz and placed a hand upon his shoulder. "Come on, none of us likes this gloom and doom." She chuckled and ran a hand through the half-orc's unkempt hair. "Krusk is getting to be unbearable even to Mialee."

Malthooz sighed and said, "I failed myself and I failed you, Lidda. My stupidity almost cost me my life. I cannot forgive myself for such idiocy."

"Idiocy is what we're all about. Risking our necks for a few gold coins here and there."

Vadania left her seat by the fire and approached them.

"Lighten up on yourself, Malthooz, you'll get used to failing. I did."

"Yeah," Lidda added. "Anyway, Vadania and I have decided that you need some lessons-a few tricks and techniques with that stick of yours."

Malthooz laughed. He looked at the two women, their toned muscles rippling in the firelight. His eyes strayed to the scimitar strapped to Vadania's side.

"No, we won't start there," she said, unhooking the weapon from her belt and setting it on a nearby root. "We'll start small."

She hunted around for a long and slender piece of driftwood.

"Grab your staff," she said, testing the weight of her own pole. "Now put it up like this."

Malthooz tried to mimic the druid's stance, feet wide with his staff held crosswise across his chest.

"Now," Vadania said, coming at him, "step into my advance and raise your staff to block mine. Good."

They ran him through a battery of simple maneuvers, showing him the basic techniques of quarterstaff fighting. While the women each favored a different tool for battle, they were both handy enough with the pole to give Malthooz a few rudimentary skills. The three of them parried back and forth across the sand, exchanging mock blows with their wooden staves. It was not long before Malthooz was out of breath and had a number of dark bruises, more colorful than painful, on his sides. The elves had not broken a sweat.

"Enough," Malthooz hollered, falling to the sand. "Enough!"

"Bah," Krusk's deep voice boomed from the fireside. He had watched the sparring lessons with quiet disdain. "You wouldn't last a second in a real battle if you tire that quickly."

He grabbed Malthooz's staff from the sand and started forward.

"Get up," Krusk shouted as he bore down on Malthooz.

Malthooz scrambled to his feet but was too slow to avoid Krusk's lightning-quick swing. The staff cracked across his shoulder, snapping at the point where it hit his shoulder blade. The half-orc stepped back in shock but managed to keep his footing. Though pain bolted through his arm, he refused to let it show on his face.

The half-orcs stood face-to-face for many moments, their eyes burning with the rage of a rekindled rivalry. Malthooz sneered.

"It is no different than it ever has been, is it, Krusk?" he asked.

Krusk tossed the splintered ends of the staff to the ground and stormed off.

When Malthooz awoke the next morning, the ache in his shoulder reminded him of the furious confrontation the night before. He knew that Krusk hadn't meant to fly off in such frenzy and guessed that Krusk's anger was probably directed more against his own conflicted feelings about returning to the village than against anything Malthooz had done. He was also certain that Krusk's actions, however antagonistic they might seem, were really a sign that he did care about what was happening to his friends of long ago.

Malthooz rubbed his sore muscles. If this was Krusk's way of showing love, so be it. It was better than the silent treatment Malthooz had endured during the journey up till then. The standoff seemed to bring the two to a mutual understanding. Malthooz was pleased with himself for not backing down. Perhaps it was only stupid pride. It was painful pride for sure. It was also a start.

More than anything else, it showed Malthooz that the only way he could make Krusk consider the request was to relate to him on Krusk's terms. There was nothing new about that, but it was easy to forget such lessons over the years.

Malthooz rose from his bedroll and started packing his things. Lidda and Krusk were hiding the remains of the camp. They kicked sand over the smoldering embers of the night's fire and smoothed the sand with pine branches.

Vadania was nowhere to be seen. Malthooz guessed that she was off in the forest, gathering food for the day's journey or herbs for healing or casting spells. Once they left the woodlands for the open beach and cliffs, such things would be much harder to come by.

Mialee sat against the trunk of a tree, poring over her spellbook, memorizing the spidery script that flowed across the pages in a way that allowed wizards to access the magical secrets held within the words, diagrams, and formulae.

Malthooz looked around for the broken ends of his walking staff. The fractured pieces of wood were nowhere to be seen. He finished rolling his bedding and tying it shut with a length of silk cord. As he carried the bundle over to his backpack and began strapping it to the underside of the bag. something caught his eye. A long, lean staff of wood rested against his pack. Lying next to the staff was a shorter and much sturdier-looking piece. The surface of the smaller weapon was worked smooth and it tapered down its length from one end to the other.

Malthooz finished tying his bedroll in place and hefted his backpack to his shoulder, wincing as the weight of it pressed on the bruise beneath. He paused for a moment then took off his pack and rummaged around for the symbol of Pelor. He hung the trinket from a leather cord around his neck, tucking it inside his tunic. After re-donning his pack, Malthooz slid the club into his belt and grabbed the new staff. The weapons felt balanced and reassuring.

For the first time in a long time, Malthooz greeted the coming day with confidence.