The rogue nodded.
"Eva told me she's had her eye on you for some time. She thinks you can be trusted." He looked over each of the companions in turn, pausing to stare at Malthooz a bit longer than the others. "You seem out of place, half-orc. I don't remember Eva mentioning a pair of you?"
"He's with us," Krusk jumped in. "He's all right."
Lidda nodded.
"So be it." The wizard took a sip of his tea before continuing, "The staff you seek is of timeless design and ancient power. Many foolhardy warriors have lost their lives trying to claim it for their own. Myself, I have devoted a goodly portion of my life to its recovery. Just last autumn my work came to fruition.
"Two centuries ago, a baron named Vernon Ghaldarous stole a powerful staff from a traveling mage. Ghaldarous' goons sneaked into the man's tent as he slept and slit his throat. They took the staff and tossed his body into the bay. Unfortunately for the baron, the mage placed a curse upon the staff that would turn its magic back upon itself in anyone's hands but his own. The power to influence and befriend even the most stubborn of people turned the baron's allies against him and his enemies into allies. He found himself attracting the most unappealing friends as the power of the staff altered and changed. Evil and deceit soon surrounded him. Life became a cruel game of survival as his new acquaintances coveted the staff for themselves. Attempts on his life became a daily occurrence. Eventually he fled into the icy wastes of northern Auralis and disappeared.
"Over the years, many have sought the staff for their own, both with hopes of raising armies of evil and hopes of restoring the cursed item to its previous state. Until recently, no one succeeded in locating the relic." Wotherwill paused for another sip of tea. "I lost my own son to the search when his party was besieged by a band of frost giants. Only two of the original ten survived.
"Two weeks ago, the ship Treachery left the town of Umberton in northern Auralis, with the survivors and the staff. It never arrived here and I am convinced that the staff lies within the wreckage."
"Bah," Vadania spat, "there'll be nothing left but swollen timbers by the time we arrive. The coast swarms with bandits and orcs. It's sure to have been looted."
"That might be true, druid, but I'd wager my life that none of them possesses the key to unlock the wards placed upon the chest that holds the staff."
Wotherwill reached into his tunic and retrieved a slender, silver chain. Dangling from its end was a small, obsidian trinket in the shape of a dragon taking flight. He set the necklace on the table.
Mialee grabbed the thing.
"Strangest key I've ever seen," she said, turning the figurine over in her hand.
"It will open the box that holds the staff," Wotherwill said. "Nothing else in existence will. Its creation was one of the baron's final acts. Whether he hoped to keep the staff from ever doing harm again, or suffered delusions of somehow using it after death, we will never know. His journal gave no clue, but it did lead me to the key."
"And you trust it to us?" Krusk asked, scowling.
"It stays with me, half-orc. Call it insurance against another theft. Or against your failure."
"Why not go yourself?" Lidda asked. "You seem capable enough. Surely if you plan on using the staff you have the magic necessary to see yourself safely to the wreck and back."
"You flatter me, thief, but age is quickly catching up with me. I'd rather save myself for study. That's my interest. I am not so vain as to think that I could use the staff myself."
Wotherwill finished his tea and rose from the table. He took the dragon key and moved to a cupboard on the wall, where he dropped the key into a small chest on the shelf and closed the lid.
"If you return the staff to me, you will be well rewarded for your efforts."
"Now you talk sense," Krusk said, "though I still don't like the sound of this. Why is the thieves guild involved?"
"I'll not risk the task to just any band of adventurers, barbarian. You might understand why I want to keep word of the job quiet. Working with the guild is as strong an assurance of silence as I can get."
Krusk looked around the table. Lidda's face was impossible to read. He knew that she was eager to earn the favor of a guild. He couldn't blame her, but he knew where she stood as a result of her enthusiasm. Malthooz stared at the rows of books on the wall. Vadania, at least, seemed to share his skepticism.
"And you only hope to study?" she asked.
"The item would be discovered eventually. Better that it rest in the hands of one who understands its power than fall into the wrong ones. You of all people should know this, druid."
"What's the guild's cut," Lidda asked, running her fingers along a groove in the tabletop.
"Enough to keep hush," Wotherwill replied. "Yours is enough to ensure that I can find others if you don't want the work." He paused, then added almost as an afterthought, "Though you probably know too much already."
Krusk rose and reached for the handle of his axe.
Wotherwill stepped away from the cupboard, one hand sligthly raised.
"You don't want to go there, friend" he said.
Lidda rose from the table, glaring at Krusk, and said, "We'll take the job."
Krusk shook his head in resignation.
Wotherwill nodded.
"I thought that you would," he said.
4
The sun was full in the sky by the time the companions collected their gear and said their parting words to the old wizard. The warmth of the sun and the clear blue sky lifted the oppressive feeling of the previous days' storm from the air. They all welcomed the change in weather. Traveling through the snow was one thing, traveling under the specter of a blizzard was quite another.
Deepwood. The name spoke of dark and untold danger. While the edges of the forest provided ample wood for the region's hearths and a bounty of wild game for the hunter, its farther reaches were seen only by the adventurous few. Most travelers gladly accepted the extra days needed to skirt the forest to the north or south. Those for whom time was more pressing recognized the risk as a necessary one. Many did survive their journey through the woods and they bore the scars to prove it. Trolls and brigands were the forest's only true residents.
Vadania took her position at the front of the group. The half-orcs fell in a few steps behind her. Krusk abandoned his large traveling backpack for a smaller shoulder pack. He kept his greataxe slung to his hip, within easy reach. Malthooz still carried his full regimen of books.
Lidda padded along a few dozen yards behind the main group, keeping watch over their backs to ensure they were not taken unawares from behind. Though each of the company kept his weapons within easy reach, if Malthooz's walking staff could be considered such, Lidda's drawn and loaded crossbow was the only one at the ready.
As morning wore into midday, the forest closed in, over, and around them. Arched branches formed a kind of tunnel above the path they traveled, keeping out all but a few rays of sunshine. Thick underbrush crowded the trunks of the trees, which became larger the farther they pressed into the forest.
Lidda watched Malthooz and Krusk exchange a few words. She couldn't hear what they said, but Krusk's tone was enough to let her know that the words weren't pleasant. She moved past the elves and tapped Krusk on the shoulder.
"Why don't you take rear guard for a while?"
Krusk started to protest, but Lidda's look stopped him. He mumbled under his breath and fell to the rear of the group.
"I don't know what his problem is," she said to Malthooz, shaking her head, "but it's not you. He's usually like this."
"He thinks I should never have come looking for him," Malthooz said, "and I suspect he's right."