Child of a Dead God

CHAPTER TEN

The moon rose as Chap paced the deck amid the sounds of wind and wave, but his thoughts drifted. He had forsaken so much to protect Leesil and Magiere, yet now felt uncertain of the correct path-again.

How had the Chein'as known of Magiere? What did they want from her in exchange for their gifts of a dagger and what Wynn called a thorhk? Something beyond vengeance, most certainly. And in the great scheme of things, what was the purpose for the artifact which Magiere sought?

She and Leesil only wished to finish this last task and go home. With all Chap's mortal heart, he wished this might be. But amid worry for them, something more nagged him tonight as he paced near the ship's rail-wall. He felt a strong sense of something out there, coming closer-like a hole in the world he could not pinpoint.

Chap hopped upon a storage chest near the rail-wall and stared ahead into the dark.

Several elven crew members watched him curiously. They found it unnatural for a majay-hi to willingly leave its homeland. The young woman with the thick braid and oversized boots studied him like a mystery to be unlocked. But the crew's discomfort did not matter, and he watched only the sea.

"Chap, where are you?" Wynn called out.

He glanced back as she emerged from the hatch below the forecastle, dressed only in her white shift, boots, and Chane's old cloak. Chap sighed, concerned for her as well.

His kin, the Fay, might still want Wynn dead. Not only for her ability to hear and perceive their presence, but also because she knew they were up to more than just sending Chap as a guardian to Magiere. And why did Wynn keep wearing that old cloak instead of her new coat?

Her preoccupation with Chane worried him-no, it was outright disturbing. He looked out across the rolling water rushing around the ship's prow and tensed, looking for… something.

"There you are." She scurried to his side. "It is getting late."

Being treated as her charge-instead of the other way around-was annoying, but it still warmed him at times. Normally, Wynn did not come on deck without Osha or Sgaile. He was surprised to find her alone and knew he should take her back downstairs. But that hollow in the world that he could not quite find began to make him ache. To make him want to… hunt?

Chap inched to the storage chest's far end, but his sharp eyes saw nothing upon the ocean ahead.

"What is wrong?" Wynn asked.

Chap hesitated. Something is out there.

Wynn put a hand on his head and slid it down his neck. "I do not see anything."

You are only human.

"Only?" she answered indignantly.

A wink of light rose ahead in the dark.

Chap reared up with his forepaws perched on the rail-wall.

"Vessel ahead!" someone shouted from up in the rigging.

Chap already saw it. The distant wink came again, catching upon sails, and the hackles on his neck stiffened.

Chane sat upon an old canvas tarp spread over the stained floor. He had propped open the hatch, but the hold still reeked of blood. All was quiet above on deck.

Welstiel stepped in, glaring at him.

Chane climbed to his feet, half-hoping Welstiel would make some self-righteous demand for an explanation. He was sick of this existence and spoiling for confrontation.

Welstiel turned his eyes on each monk, one by one.

The ferals were markedly better off than when Welstiel had left-more aware and curious about their surroundings. The one Sabel had called "Jakeb" was especially improved. His face had nearly healed of her scratches, and he studied Welstiel calmly. Sethe was also less agitated.

Yet all the monks were smeared or splattered with blood.

But Welstiel said nothing.

He crossed to a bare space below the open hatch, dropped to the floor, and immediately pulled out the brass dish to scry for Magiere. Perhaps he was relieved that Chane had taken care of feeding the ferals. Or he was just lost in his own obsession yet again.

Either way, Chane did not care.

A loud call from above vibrated through the hold's ceiling. Welstiel looked up, having barely nicked his stubbed finger, and only one drop of black fluid had fallen onto the plate.

"What is it?" Chane asked.

"Something about a ship…," Welstiel began, but his gaze dropped to the brass plate.

Welstiel spun up to his feet and rushed back out of the hold. As his pounding footfalls filled the outer passage, Chane glanced down at the brass plate.

The one droplet of Welstiel's black fluids bulged at the center of its domed back, and the droplet had not moved at all.

Chane bolted after Welstiel.

Magiere's ship was nearly on top of theirs.

Welstiel burst onto deck and looked up to see the loose sail secured. Chane came out behind him, searching about in confusion.

"Where is it?" Chane rasped. "Do you see the other ship?"

Welstiel spun toward the ship's aft.

Both the captain and Klatas stood beyond the helm, exchanging quick, sharp words. He looked past them, senses widening, and caught sight of distant sails shimmering in the moonlight. Chane had followed, and Welstiel grabbed him roughly by his shirt.

"We must drive Magiere to ground!"

Chane scowled, but his gaze fixed into the distance behind their vessel.

"How?" he hissed.

"We sink her ship."

"No!" Chane spit back, swatting off Welstiel's grip. "Wynn is on board!"

"We must get them back on land," Welstiel insisted. "It is the only way we can follow them now. They will have time to abandon ship… including your little sage!"

He strode for the stern before Chane could argue.

Klatas saw him coming and shouted, "Go down in hold!"

The captain began calling to his men, and the tall, helmed man's voice was tinged with fear. He walked past Klatas toward the bow. Welstiel ignored the helmsman's order and followed the captain from a short distance with Chane close behind.

Ylladon sailors rushed about at the captain's orders. Two raced aft and uncovered the stern ballista. One by one, all the deck lamps were doused. Darkness enveloped the ship as Klatas suddenly threw his weight into turning the wheel.

Welstiel grabbed the rail as the vessel listed sharply, turning from the shore for the open sea. Men in the rigging worked madly to raise more sails.

"He's running," Chane said, watching the captain clinging to a rigging line at the ship's side.

"Obviously!" Welstiel returned, and then thought of what the captain had locked in his quarters. "We will change his mind!"

He ignored the captain standing midship and headed back to the helm.

"Get below!" Klatas yelled, still clinging to the wheel.

"You cannot outrun that ship," Welstiel said in a low voice.

The helmsman spit at his feet, eyes on the ship's arcing course. "What you know of it?"

"I know it is elven," Welstiel answered, inching closer. "And I saw what your captain has locked in his quarters. That ship will never stop coming for you-and the two women you have taken. It is faster than your vessel, and your only chance is to turn and fight."

Klatas shook his head but did not respond. It was clear the captain feared pursuit, as did the helmsman. Klatas spit out a stream of words that Welstiel could not follow, but he spun about at the sound of running footsteps.

The captain closed on him, his heavy shortsword in hand. Chane drew his longsword at the sight.

"Tell him that he must turn and fight!" Welstiel shouted at the helmsman.

Another sailor grabbed the wheel as Klatas let go, still speaking loudly to his superior. The captain slowed, listening, then eyed Welstiel as he barked a short phrase.

"If is battle vessel, we not can fight," Klatas said to Welstiel. "Their ship keep going fast… even crippled and sails down. Something under waves can break our hull, sink us."

An elven battle vessel? Welstiel had never heard of such, and the idea of something beneath the water that could sink its enemies sounded like nonsense.

"Load your ballistae with burning quarrels," he said. "Set fire to the sails, and its crew will abandon ship. But you must come about. If we charge, we have the element of surprise."

Klatas shifted anxious eyes toward his captain. The fact that he was even trying to convince his superior-on the word of a foreigner-meant he feared they could not escape. The captain snarled back, grabbed Klatas by the hair, and shoved him away.

"He say we run," Klatas answered. "Even under full moon, we maybe lose them in dark."

Persuasion was not working. Welstiel spoke calmly to Chane in Belaskian but kept his eyes on the helmsman.

"Kill the captain… and show them what you are."

The captain barked a question at Klatas, stepping toward the smaller man.

In the same instant, Chane thrust out with his longsword.

The startled captain tried to raise his shortsword in defense, but Chane's sword was already embedded through the side of his leather armor. The shortsword clanged against Chane's steel anyway. The impact jarred the longsword, twisting it in the captain's ribs. He buckled to his knees.

The fight should have been over, but Klatas reached for his saber. Welstiel pulled his sword before the helmsman could draw his and grabbed Klatas by the throat. He heard Chane's hiss grating like some enraged reptile.

The captain wrapped his thick hand around Chane's embedded blade.

The crewman at the helm abandoned his post to rush in.

"Move and you die," Welstiel growled in Klatas's ear, and lashed out his sword.

The tip clipped the rushing crewman and tore through the side of his face. The man twisted away, screaming as he tumbled to the deck.

Chane opened his mouth, exposing jagged, elongated teeth.

The captain tried to raise his shortsword again. Blood ran along Chane's blade in his side, either from the wound or from his free hand gripping the sharp steel. Chane lifted one booted foot.

He stomped down on the captain's forearm, just above the man's grip.

The captain's fingers sheared off on the longsword's edge. He dropped his shortsword with a guttural cry.

Klatas bucked in Welstiel's grip.

"Tell your men to stay back or they die!" Welstiel shouted. He dropped his sword to grip Klatas's hair. "Tell them now… or I save you for last."

Chane slammed his jaws closed on the captain's throat. He thrashed his head like a wild dog ripping prey in its teeth. Dark blood splattered across the deck, and flecks of it struck Klatas's face and chest.

Cries of hunger and desperation rose from somewhere in the belly of the ship.

Chane dropped the captain's limp body in the red pool spreading on the deck. He spit out torn flesh and turned glittering eyes upon the closing crew.

Welstiel focused his mind on his ferals below.

"Come!" he shouted. "Come to me now!"

Screams of release filled the ship's hull as Klatas cried out to his men.

Wynn spotted a point of light on the sea as the elven steersman called for his hkomas. But she could not see a ship. The light vanished as the hkomas came at a jog. He glanced at Wynn standing on deck in her shift-without Osha or Sgaile-and stopped below the aftcastle.

"I have lost sight of it," the steersman called, releasing the wheel to a crew member beside him. He came down to the deck and pointed. "It was there, ahead of us."

Chap began to growl.

"What is it?" Wynn asked.

He only huffed and rumbled.

"Go below!" the hkomas shouted at her.

"I will not! Look at him." She gestured to Chap. "Something is very wrong."

"Wynn-where are you?" Osha emerged below the forecastle, holding his gray-green cloak closed against the wind.

"Here," she answered, then turned quickly back to Chap. "Tell me what you see!"

Chap's growl deepened, but he would not look away from the ocean.

The steersman grabbed the back of Wynn's cloak. "Do as you're ordered!"

Osha reached Wynn's side and snatched the man's wrist. He shook his head slowly until the steersman released his grip.

"What is wrong?" Osha asked.

"An unknown ship ahead," Wynn answered, "and it is making Chap uneasy."

Osha leaned over the rail-wall, following Chap's gaze. "I see nothing."

"It vanished in the dark, but it must be there."

"Ship ahead!" someone called from up the front mast. "Human sails in moonlight, turning seaward."

"Human?" the hkomas repeated.

"Could it be the one?" the steersman asked.

"Ylladon!" the voice above cried out. "It is Ylladon!"

Osha glanced upward once, his expression confused. "You are seeking a ship?" he demanded.

"At our last stop, we heard of a raid on a lower coastal enclave," the hkomas answered, and the steersman rushed for the aftcastle as the hkomas called out, "All crew on deck! Full sail-and tell alhkasge to rouse the ship!"

Wynn turned to Osha at this new name. "Who is… Closing-Stone… and why must he wake up the ship?"

"He is our vessel's hkoeda," Osha said quickly. "Even asleep the ship keeps swimming, but the hkomas now wishes for more haste. You should go below."

"Chap, come on," Wynn said.

The dog remained poised. Wynn grasped Chap's shoulders, and he growled at her without turning.

The stairwell's hatch shattered outward, and feral monks poured onto the deck.

Chane knew he was trapped.

Somewhere behind them, Wynn was on that other ship.

He had followed Welstiel's every demand. If not, Welstiel would have been overrun by the crew, leaving Chane alone amid marauders and a pack of ferals with no master. And killing the Ylladon captain had made his head swim with euphoria.

He tried to clear his mind as scattered sailors grabbed for weapons to fend off the monks. Welstiel still gripped the helmsman, but his face…

His colorless eyes glowed in his pale white features. His lips pushed apart around elongating teeth.

Chane had never seen Welstiel in full vampiric state. Perhaps the man had fallen so far over sanity's edge that his aristocratic veneer had cracked completely. The sight ate at Chane, until all he wanted was another warm body to tear apart. And someone kept squealing behind him.

He snapped his head to the side, glaring over his shoulder.

The sailor Welstiel had slashed rolled on the deck, clutching his face with blood dripping between his fingers. Chane jerked his sword from the captain's corpse and skewered the crewman through the heart. The man fell silent and limp.

Half of the crew had recovered from their initial horror and were now facing down the monks. Ferals worked their way around the sailors to cluster near Welstiel.

Sabel looked to Chane, sniffing the air, and then her gaze found the pool of blood around the captain's corpse. Chane backed against the starboard rail.

Could Welstiel control his children cut loose among the living?

"Tell your men to get back into the rigging!" Welstiel hissed into Klatas's ear. "You turn this ship back… or you'll be bloodless before your body hits the deck."

"They not do this," the helmsman choked, "not charge elven ship!"

"Look around! Who do they fear more… the elves or us?"

Welstiel felt the helmsman's pulse under his hand and heard its pounding rhythm in his own ears. The hunger it brought made him sick inside- because he wanted to feed.

The crew stayed beyond the reach of the hissing, sniffing ferals, but their faces were tense as they clenched their weapons. Klatas finally shouted at them.

Two shook their heads, and one lost all color in his face.

Welstiel shoved the helmsman into the wheel.

Klatas caught himself on a spindled handle, but he glanced down in horror at his captain's body. He began shouting again at the crew, but not one of them moved.

Welstiel needed at least six of them, more likely ten, enough to man the ballistae and at least keep the ship on course once it turned.

"Feed!" he snarled.

All five ferals rushed the crew with wild cries of release. Only two crewmen stood their ground as the others scattered.

Welstiel retrieved his sword. "Turn north, along the coast… while some of your men are still alive."

Klatas threw his weight into the wheel, cranking it hard. "Stop your beasts!"

Welstiel grabbed the side rail as the ship listed sharply and looked out across the deck.

The two sailors who had stood their ground were already dead, hidden beneath growling and tearing ferals. Their feast was broken as their bodies slid along the deck's tilt. Stumbling monks turned frenzied as each tried to close on the bodies first.

Welstiel counted off crewmen within sight. Four or five more were not to be seen-likely in hiding-and the rest had fled into the rigging.

"Halt!" Welstiel shouted in Stravinan.

As the deck leveled and the ship's prow swung north, he stepped out among his cowering minions. Again, the curly-haired man was last to back away from the torn bodies, his neck and forearms ridged with straining muscle. He still clutched at the deck, reaching for the nearest slaughtered crewman.

Welstiel raised his face to the ship's heights and the crewmen clinging to the rigging. Klatas shouted at them, and they scrambled to their duties.

Only moments had passed, and Welstiel remembered his companion. He turned to find Chane standing at the rail.

"Go forward and below," Welstiel said, "to the captain's quarters. But first check his body for keys. Behind the table in there, you will find a loose panel in the wall. Break it in and bring me the prisoners you find inside the wall."

Chane's eyes narrowed, but he silently searched the captain's corpse. He stood up with a soft chitter of keys and slipped away toward the bow.

Someone shouted from the rigging, and Klatas craned his head to search the night ahead.

"What is it?" Welstiel asked.

"The elf ship… come fast… we are seen!"

Welstiel looked out past the prow. "Put men on the ballistae. Now!"

Leesil roused from half-sleep as Magiere thrashed against him. She rolled toward the narrow bunk's edge, and he tried to grab for her, but she slipped over to the floor.

"Magiere?"

He pushed up onto one elbow, trying to come fully awake in the dim light.

Magiere crouched on all fours. Both of them were fully clothed, since they had to share a cabin with Wynn and Chap. Amber light glinted in her black hair hanging around her face-and she was panting.

Had she been dreaming again? Perhaps another nightmare?

"What's wrong?" he asked.

He clutched blindly for the lantern or whatever light Wynn had forgotten to put out, but he couldn't get a grip on it.

"Leesil…?" Magiere whispered, and started to lift her head.

With a frustrated grunt, Leesil sat up and reached out. The light didn't come from a lantern.

At the head of the long bunk ledge, he saw the topaz amulet Magiere had given him. It glowed softly.

Leesil sucked in a harsh breath and looked at Magiere.

Yellow light exposed her pale features through the tendrils of her hair. Her irises were blacker than the room's shadows.

An eerie wail rang out from somewhere in the ship.

"Chap?" Leesil said, but Chap wasn't in the room-and neither was Wynn. "Oh, dead deities!"

Magiere scrambled up, snatched her falchion, and jerked open the cabin door.

"Where are they?" Leesil growled. "And how could an undead get on board?"

She didn't answer and ran out as he snatched up the amulet and pulled its loop over his head. He grabbed one of his winged blades, but with no time to strap it on, he threw aside the sheath and raced out.

Running, he caught up to Magiere as she slammed the hatch door with her palm. Its latch shattered, and they both burst onto the deck at the ship's seaward side.

The crew raced about purposefully. Several of them strung longbows and shouldered quivers. But Leesil saw no sign of a conflict or fight.

"Wynn?" he shouted, and then spotted her before his call faded.

She ran toward him with Osha close behind as they rounded the cargo grate. She skidded to a stop before the shore-side forward hatch.

"Leesil… Magiere? I was coming for you." Wynn whirled, pointing ahead. "Undead… another ship ahead… Chap sensed undead and ran up the forecastle!"

Magiere leaped to the cargo grate's edge, running past Wynn, and Leesil heard Chap cut loose another shuddering howl. Several elven crew members cast frightened glances toward the bow as the sound spread over the deck.

Leesil started to follow but stopped short when Sgaile appeared from the other forward hatch. He was struggling to pull on his tunic. All around, crew scrambled as the hkomas shouted over Chap's howls. Sgaile twisted about in the commotion, pausing to listen to elven voices. He grabbed for Leesil as he stepped in beside Osha.

"The ship will need a wide berth," he said. "The hkomas will head seaward to bypass the other vessel. Be ready to assist as needed."

"No," Wynn said quickly. "The other ship turned out to sea. We are closing for a look."

"What?" Sgaile asked in open surprise. "If it is Ylladon, that is folly! This is not a fighting vessel."

Chap's howls waned, and Leesil stepped back to peer up into the forecastle. The dog hung upon the forward rail-wall with Magiere.

"Show me!" she growled, her voice nearly lost in the noise on deck.

Chap stretched his head out as far as he could. Magiere leaned over the dog to follow his sightline.

"What is that?" Sgaile whispered.

Leesil glanced at him in confusion and found both Osha and Sgaile staring at him. No, rather, at his chest. He looked down once to the soft yellow glow of the amulet.

"Magiere gave it to me," he said, frustrated by the distraction. "It glows when we're near an undead."

"That is why Chap is howling," Wynn added urgently. "He wants to hunt… because he senses an undead. And it is on that other ship!"

Sgaile exhaled sharply, as if overwhelmed.

Two pairs of elven sailors thumped up the aft hatchway. One set carried a tall, stout wooden stand, while the other hauled a long heavier bulk wrapped in canvas. They trotted along the seaward rail-wall and up onto the aftcastle.

One pair set the stand on the aftcastle's seaward side, and the second pair mounted the canvas bulk on top. When they ripped off the covering, the first two lifted a broad steel bow, and then locked it down across the mounted stock of a ballista.

Two more crewmen ran past Leesil for the forecastle and its shoreward side.

"It appears the hkomas made extra preparations for this journey," Sgaile said and glanced to Osha. "There are also swimmers in the heart-room."

Osha's long face went slack as he looked toward the stern.

Before Leesil asked what this meant, both anmaglahk headed up the forecastle stairs. Leesil grabbed Wynn's small hand to follow.

Magiere and Chap still hung upon the bow, peering intently out to sea. Chap ceased howling but fidgeted anxiously, and Magiere's irises were so fully black it was hard to tell if they were focused on anything in the dark. But when Leesil looked ahead, his own gaze locked on the ship.

He'd assumed the other ship was still a good distance off, but its square sails clearly caught the moonlight. The vessel aimed a course to pass on the elven ship's seaward side-then it veered.

Wynn's hand tightened on Leesil's fingers. "They are coming straight at us!"

Chane hauled the two bound elven women onto the deck by their hand shackles. The adult one was as tall as himself, though her slender build seemed as fragile as her younger companion. Neither had struggled when he pulled them from the hidden cell, but both jerked back as they emerged on the dark deck.

Even without light, they saw the feral monks hovering about. The bodies of the two slaughtered sailors were gone, but the curly-haired feral licked at the blood running upon the deck. The younger elf's voice filled with breathy panic as she said something to the elder.

Chane's anxiety for Wynn began to grow.

Sailors prepared ballistae under the watchful eyes of the hungry ferals. Men pulled off tarps and cocked back cable strings with cranks on the heavy weapons' stocks. Each ballista swiveled upon a tall stand mounted to the deck and all pointed forward along the ship's course. Quarrels the length of Chane's body were slid into place, their long steel heads wrapped in oil-soaked cloth.

Two more sailors came from below, carrying buckets of glowing coals.

"Keep those covered until we are ready to fire," Welstiel called, and Klatas echoed his command to the crew.

Welstiel trotted along the deck, weaving between the crew and his crouching ferals. He grabbed the shackles of the adult female out of Chane's grip.

"Bring the other," he ordered and passed by.

"This is too risky!" Chane hissed, holding his ground with his own captive. "What if Wynn-or your precious Magiere-is hit by a burning sail as it falls?"

Welstiel ignored him and shoved his captive toward the prow. He turned and called out to the helmsman, "How soon can we fire?"

Chane turned as well.

The captain's body was gone, likely thrown overboard, and Klatas held the wheel tightly in both hands. His face was as rigid and white as his knuckles.

"When closer," the helmsman shouted back. "We first fire at deck side. Cause fear and running. Keep elves busy and slowed."

"No!" Chane shouted. "You might kill anyone on that side of the ship."

Again, both Welstiel and the helmsman ignored him, and Chane charged after Welstiel, dragging his young captive.

Welstiel removed his captive's lower shackles and tied a rope end around her ankles. She struggled only at the last, until he grabbed her by the throat. Welstiel shoved, and the woman toppled over the side. The younger one in Chane's grip cried out in horror.

"What are you doing?" he snarled.

Welstiel held the rope pulled taut in his hands, and Chane peered over the ship's side. The elven woman dangled upside down, halfway above the dark water rushing past the hull.

"Take the rope," Welstiel ordered. "Now!"

Chane grabbed it with his free hand, and Welstiel whirled and slapped the smaller female across her temple.

She fell, and Chane released her manacles to keep control of the rope. The young one hit the deck in a half-conscious flop, eyes rolling. Chane was more concerned with whatever Welstiel had planned and tied the rope off on the bow's rail. Welstiel grabbed a dangling lantern from its hook and handed it to him.

"When I tell you, open its shutter and hang it over the side, so all can see the woman dangling there. We need an instant of shock on that elven ship to give us an advantage. When I give the order, cut the rope."

Chane suddenly understood, but it gave him no ease regarding Wynn's safety.

"Watch the helm," Welstiel ordered, and then closed his eyes.

He sank cross-legged in the bow and wrapped his left hand over his right, closing it tightly upon the ring on his right middle finger. He began thrumming a soft chant.

Chane crouched behind the rail, feeling lost as he clutched the lantern and rope.

Welstiel focused his will upon the ring.

Klatas had implied that they would need to be close for the ballistae's quarrels to succeed. This meant bringing himself and his followers very near Magiere and Chap. With so many undead aboard, their collective presence would not escape either of those two's heightened awareness.

The ring's power hid Welstiel and those he "touched" from anything but mundane senses, but now he required more from it. Once before, he had expanded its influence to smother Ubad's spirit-sight, as the old one held Magiere captive. Now he had to hide any undead's presence on this vessel from Chap and Magiere's unnatural awareness for as long as possible.

He chanted quietly and felt the ring's sphere of influence twinge through his flesh-spreading, growing, and enveloping the whole ship.

Chane felt a strange tingle pass over him, as if his skin had gone numb for an instant.

He had no idea what Welstiel was doing. His thoughts wrestled for a way out of this situation before Wynn was placed in danger again. If the helmsman ordered a shot at the deck, Wynn might be killed-unless the elven captain had ordered all passengers below. And then she might be trapped once the ship began to burn.

Welstiel sat with eyes closed, hands clenched together, and a hum in his throat-and a cold notion entered Chane's panicked thoughts.

All he need do was draw his sword and cleave off Welstiel's head. The unleashed ferals would ravage the ship, and Chane might jump overboard amid the chaos.

But what if some of the sailors managed to survive? What if the elves attacked, seeing one of their own dangling from the ship's rail? What if the ferals panicked and fled amid the fire and quarrels, as the Ylladon crew responded in defense?

And no matter what, Wynn was still trapped in the middle.

Welstiel's interest in keeping Magiere alive, forcing her aground, meant giving the elven crew time to abandon ship-and Wynn along with them.

The half-conscious young elf lying on the deck moaned softly.

Chane held his place, ready to open the lantern.

Magiere locked her eyes on the approaching vessel, its moonlit sails bright in her night sight. It came straight at her, but not quickly enough, and the hunger burning in her belly began to rise into her throat.

Someone shouted, and amid that string of Elvish, Magiere heard Sgaile's longer elven name.

"The hkomas orders us below," he said. "I do not think that wise, but we should leave the forecastle, so the crew may function freely."

Magiere glanced back and saw the hkomas standing near the aftcastle's steps. When her gaze locked with his, he went still as he studied her. His head cocked suspiciously.

"Magiere…," Leesil began, and then stopped as Sgaile sighed in resignation.

Magiere's awareness of them was smothered beneath hunger and the memories of a falchion in her hand and headless corpses at her feet, their black fluids running from her blade.

She had felt this before-but never so strongly. Whatever was coming on that ship, it overwhelmed her and nearly severed her self-control. But the need to hunt was a welcome relief against the pull to go south that plagued her.

She could slaughter what was on that vessel without holding back. She wanted-needed-that release. Her fingernails began to harden, and her teeth ached as they pressed her clenched jaws apart. She tried to force it down, keep it suppressed and hidden until she needed it.

And her hunger suddenly vanished.

Magiere teetered, suddenly faint at its loss.

Chap shifted frantically with a pained yelp.

"What?" Leesil snapped.

The soft light around Magiere vanished, and she looked to the topaz amulet hanging upon Leesil's chest.

The stone was dead and lifeless.

Magiere's stomach turned and shriveled at the loss of promised release as she stared back at the oncoming vessel.

Chap's foreclaws ground upon the rail-wall as he strained to peer more closely at the ship. He had felt the undead-as certain of their presence as of his own breath.

Where had they gone?

Though the ship still came at them, he sensed nothing upon it. This was not possible. He had not been wrong.

But the same thing had happened to him once before, in the streets of Venjetz. He had been running down an undead with Magiere and Leesil, and then his prey suddenly vanished-just like now.

Chap snarled in frustration, and Magiere slammed both her hands on the rail.

"No," she whispered, her voice pained. "No… no… no!"

Chap slipped into her thoughts and saw her rising memories of hunting… memories with far too much longing, close to lust. Someone shouted in Elvish from the rigging.

"It veers again!"

Light flashed on the waters ahead.

Chap slipped from Magiere's mind as he saw the oncoming ship. Its prow aimed to pass close on the elven vessel's seaward side. The light came from one bright spot near its bow.

"What is that?" asked Leesil, pointing out over the rail.

Chap's eyes adjusted and he saw… her.

An open lantern illuminated a tall elven woman dangling inverted over the other ship's near side. A rope cinched around her ankles suspended her with long hanging hair trailing in the rushing water. Half the elven crew ran to the seaward side as the other vessel began to pass.

"Hard to starboard!" the hkomas shouted. "Do not let them round our stern!"

Chap bolted around the seaward ballista and its crew to stand at the forecastle's stairs. Below on the deck, several elves began uncoiling rope with grappling hooks. Magiere passed him by, leaping down to the deck as she tried to keep the passing ship in her sightline. Sgaile moved to follow, but Leesil grabbed his arm.

"No, they're baiting you! They want you to rush in!"

The ships drew so close that Chap heard a voice shouting upon the other vessel. Sgaile jerked free of Leesil's grip.

"They have one of our people!" Sgaile shouted. "We do not abandon our own."

Chap's awareness suddenly sharpened-as if he were surrounded by undead.

All the voices around him muted in his ears. He shook inside with the need to hunt. Before he could search for the source of his returned drive, the rope on the other vessel's prow went slack.

The elven woman fell into the sea and vanished beneath the water.

Chap barely heard Sgaile's anguished cry.

Fire arced into the night from the Ylladon ship, rising in trajectories toward the elven vessel's sails. Magiere lunged for the deck's rail, shoving elves out of her way.

As the first burning shaft hit, panic flooded Chap's mind.

All he could do was howl, as he searched frantically for his charges-and some means to get them out of harm's way.