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.

The door opened from outside and three men in armor stepped into the pub. The red crescent moon of the city guard shone on the white tips of their belts and the hilts of their swords. Malthooz watched as one of the men showed the paper he was holding to the man tending the counter. The guard said something to the man and he paused for a moment, then nodded at the companions' table.

Lidda reached under the table toward her leg as the guards made their way across the room. The few other patrons in the bar moved aside to let the men pass. Krusk caught the rogue's movement in the corner of his eye and spun around.

"You're being placed under arrest for the murder of Horace Wotherwill," the guard said, laying the document on the table in front of them.

Pressed into a patch of red wax in the bottom corner of the parchment was the official seal of the mayor of the city.

"Found in a gutter this morning," he said. "Not that it would come as any surprise to you. We've got more than enough witnesses."

"Impossible," Krusk bellowed, slamming his fist on the table and rising from his chair. "We haven't left this inn since yesterday."

The barbarian reached across his body and grabbed the dagger that was strapped to his forearm.

"Don't try anything stu—"

The man's words were cut short when Krusk toppled the table and bowled into him. Plates and mugs sailed through the air, and the barbarian jumped on the man. Krusk's dagger thrust toward the guard's neck, but the man knocked it away with his sword. The shorter blade flew from the barbarian's hand just before the two of them tumbled across the floor.

The rest of the company was on their feet instantly. Other guards with weapons drawn stepped up to threaten Mialee and Vadania, should either of them begin casting a spell. Neither of the women were armed. Ringed by blades, they put up their hands and stood quietly.

As the guards' attention turned to the brawl on the floor, Malthooz lunged from his chair and shot right between the guards and the two women, headed for the front door. He heard the innkeeper shouting as he leaped over the upturned table. The half-orc reached for his club but it wasn't at his side. Three more guards charged into the room, blocking the front entrance. Krusk and the guard officer were rolling across the floor, rabidly pummeling and choking one another. More guards piled onto the fray, trying to separate the two wrestlers, straining to release Krusk's hold on the guard's throat.

With his exit blocked, Malthooz hesitated, but only for a moment. A small hand grasped his robe and pulled him with surprising strength toward the stairs.

"Follow me out of this death trap," he heard Lidda say. "All we can do is save ourselves."

Malthooz looked back at his helpless companions, but he stumbled along in the halfling's wake.

They sprinted up the staircase and across the open hallway. Malthooz paused before the door to his room, intending to retrieve his pack, but the rogue shoved him hard from behind. He glimpsed Krusk's axe resting under the bed in the corner as the doorway to the room slid past.

"There's no way we could escape with all of it," the rogue blurted as they made their way to the window at the end of the passage.

He saw a bulge in the pocket of her cloak, however, and knew that she at least had her share of the gold.

The sound of booted feet pounded up the staircase behind them. Malthooz patted the symbol around his neck and touched the pouch of gold in his own tunic. That would have to do, he thought. Lidda threw open the window and jumped into a crouch on the sill, then disappeared over the edge.

Malthooz, far larger than the nimble halfling, thrust his head and shoulders through the opening and looked down into the narrow alleyway that ran behind the inn. With his stomach churning and the guards charging up the hallway, he dragged the rest of his body over the sill. The ground rushed up fast, but he managed to twist so his legs were mostly beneath him, and he landed on a heap of old straw from the stables. Lidda was crouched in a shadow nearby. As soon as Malthooz touched the ground, she turned and dashed up the alley. Malthooz struggled to his feet and raced after her, chased only by curses from the window of the inn.

Iron cuffs bit into Krusk's flesh. He growled at the jailer who pushed him along the dank hallway lined with iron-barred cells. Mialee and Vadania marched a few paces ahead. Each of the women was gagged to keep them from using magic. Krusk bit down on the rag stuffing his own mouth. It was there simply to keep him from talking.

"I've heard enough of your abuse," the jailer said as Krusk gnashed his teeth against the gag.

The stench of decay filled the area. Body odor, mold, and smoke from burning torches assailed the barbarian's nostrils as he walked along the row of cells. Most of them were occupied.

The group stopped in front of a cell at the far end of the hallway and waited while the jailer searched for the right key. He was an old and frail man. The half-dozen armed guards following the group ensured his safety.

"This should be it," he said, slipping the key into a rusty keyhole and turning it with a grating clack. The door to the cell squealed open. Krusk felt a boot in his back propelling him inside.

Damp straw was scattered across the floor of the cell. Aside from a small urn in the back corner, the room was bare. Moisture dripped down the rough, stone walls, feeding small patches of green moss growing on the mortar between the blocks. A single, narrow shaft cut through the stonework, letting in a thin stream of light from the streets above. The pale glow that came through the opening cast a small spot of brightness on the otherwise gray floor.

"Welcome to your new home," a guard said as he guided the company into the cell. "It's not much, but you'll get used to it." He chuckled. "Most of 'em do, eventually." He removed the rags that were tied around Vadania's and Mialee's heads. "You're free to try your magic," he said as stuffed the rags into a pocket in the front of his uniform, "but you won't get too far with it here, what with the wards and all."

He looked Krusk up and down but left his gag in place. The jailer shut the cell door, sealing any hope of escape with a long steel key.

"Bah," Krusk sputtered as Mialee untied his gag and tossed the rag aside. "Damn those thieves! I said from the start they were not to be trusted."

"We don't know who is behind this," Vadania said, rubbing her wrists. "I'm not going to jump to conclusions. Your stunt at the inn could have gotten us all killed."

Krusk growled, "Whatever you decide, it won't get us out of here. Not with the city's officials giving our arrest their backing." He spat. "I don't know who is worse, the thieves or the politicians."

He looked around the cell. Deep scratches marked one of the walls, a series of short lines running in parallel across its length. He tried to count the marks but quickly lost track. He wasn't sure if they were meant to mark days, weeks, or months, but he was determined that, one way or another, he would not spend any length of time behind bars.

"At least Malthooz and Lidda escaped," Mialee said hopefully. "We'll get out of this yet. After all, we're innocent."

Laughter rang up and down the row of cells, and the barbarian joined it.

"Who are you trying to convince, wizard?"

Krusk wasn't sure which was funnier, leaving his life in the hands of his incompetent "brother" Malthooz or placing his trust in the rogue. He detested both options.