Forge of the Mindslayers

CHAPTER TWELVE

Diran watched as Bruk picked up the dagger and rose to his feet. The boy raised his hands and took a step backward.

"But I spared your life!"

"You're a fool," the sea raider said as he slowly advanced. "You should've slit my throat from ear to ear and laughed as my life's blood splashed onto the floor." He smiled. "That's what I would've done."

Bruk lunged at Diran with the dagger, but the man's balance was off, making Diran wonder just how long the Brotherhood of the Blade had held him captive and how often he'd been fed during that time. Bruk listed to the left, and his legs wobbled as if they were having a hard time supporting his weight. Diran lashed out with a foot and kicked Bruk's left leg out from under him, causing the sea raider to fall to the floor. Bruk hadn't completely forgotten his fighting skills, though, and managed to keep hold of the dagger and avoid skewering himself with it as he hit.

Bruk glared at Diran, baring his teeth as if he were a wild animal. Appropriate, Diran thought, considering what the bastard had done to his parents.

"Just for that, I'll take my time gutting you, boy." Bruk began to pull himself up on his feet.

Diran remembered something his father had told him-

Sometimes when you're out on the water, everything will seem calm one moment, and then a storm will blow up out of nowhere. It's times like those when you most need to keep your wits about you. Giving in to fear is the fastest way to find yourself at the bottom of the Lhazaar.

Diran forced himself to remain calm and consider his options, such as they were. He knew there was no point trying to reach either door. Even if they were unlocked, which he very much doubted, surely some of the older acolytes-such as the ones who'd brought Bruk in-were waiting on the other side to prevent him from escaping. He also knew that there was no point in trying to appeal to Cathmore's sympathies, for the elder assassin had none. The only resources available to him were what lay inside the weapons chest… and in the box Cathmore held in his hands.

Diran ran toward Cathmore just as Bruk got to his feet and slashed out with the dagger. Diran heard the hiss of the blade parting air behind him and felt the breeze of its passage on the back of his neck. Bruk had missed, but not by much. As Diran approached Cathmore, the assassin stood motionless, though his gaze was riveted on Diran, almost as if he were studying the boy and assessing his actions.

Diran reached into the box and grabbed several vials at random. He turned to see Bruk charging, eyes blazing with anger, dagger raised for a killing strike.

Diran hurled the vials at Bruk's face.

Without thinking, Bruk lashed out with the dagger to protect himself, and the blade struck several of the vials. Glass shattered, liquid splattered-some of it onto Bruk's face and into his eyes. The other vials either missed him or bounced off his chest to burst apart harmlessly against the floor, but the poison that Bruk's blow had released was more than sufficient.

The sea raider screamed, dropped the dagger, and clapped his hands to his face. The skin around his eyes, nose, and mouth turned greenish-black and began to swell. He collapsed onto his side, his body spasming wildly, as if the muscles were tearing free from his skeleton. Then Bruk made a strangled gurling noise deep in his throat, stiffened once, and went limp. The poison had finished doing its work.

Diran looked at the corpse of the man who was responsible for the deaths of his parents, and though he was shamed by it, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction mingled with relief.

I hope you can rest easier now, Mother and Father.

"Well done, lad."

Diran turned to Cathmore and was surprised to see the assassin grinning.

"You didn't have the training to fight Bruk hand to hand, so you used the only weapon that would even the odds between you." Cathmore's grin took on a hard edge. "That's another reason I favor poison: it doesn't matter how powerful or skilled its victims are. All must bow before its power."

Diran didn't respond. Instead he walked over to Bruk and knelt at the sea raider's side. He retrieved the dagger Bruk had dropped and rubbed its blade in a puddle of poison created when one of the vials that the sea raider had missed had fallen to the floor, then he spun, rising to his feet as he did so, and hurled the dagger at Cathmore. The blade flew straight and true and embedded itself in the poison-master's left shoulder. Cathmore's eyes widened in surprise and he dropped the box holding the remaining poisons. It crashed onto the floor, spilling the rest of its contents in a mess of broken glass and foul-smelling liquid.

Blood welled forth from the wound and Cathmore reached up with a trembling hand, as if he intended to grasp the hilt and pull the blade free. Then he drew in a shuddering breath, his eyes rolled white, and he fell to the floor and lay still.

Diran stepped over to Cathmore's body and looked down upon it, a grim smile spreading across his face. "I might not have the skill to fight someone like Bruk, but my father taught me how to use a knife. He said it was a good weapon for a fisherman to have. It was small enough to wield in tight quarters and you could always use it to gut fish if necessary."

Cathmore's eyes moved to focus on Diran. "Your father was a wise man."

Diran took several frightened steps backward as Cathmore sat up.

"I applaud your ingenuity and your ruthlessness," the master assassin said, "but did you truly think that I wouldn't have long ago made myself immune to my own poisons? Even if your dagger strike itself had killed me, Emon would've simply paid to have me resurrected, though my dear half-brother would undoubtedly insist I pay him back. Still, Diran Bastiaan, I am impressed. You alone of all the children I have taught have managed to come this close to killing me." He chuckled, then drew in a hiss of air. "It hurts like blazes, though." He held out his right hand. "Help me up and we'll see about getting me to a healer, eh?"

Diran looked at Cathmore's hand for a moment before finally taking it and steadying the man as he rose to his feet.

Ghaji swung his axe at Chagai's unprotected neck. Orc necks were thick, their heads set close to their broad shoulders, so it wasn't the easiest target to hit. That didn't matter since Ghaji didn't expect his strike to connect.

Sure enough, Chagai pulled away and brought his broadsword up to defect Ghaji's blow, but at the last instant, Ghaji turned his axe downward, angled his shoulder toward Chagai, and slammed into the orc leader. Pain exploded through Ghaji's right shoulder all the way down his arm as he hit Chagai's breastplate, but the maneuver had the intended effect of throwing Chagai off balance. With his left hand Ghaji grabbed Chagai's sword arm by the wrist and twisted as hard as he could. The sound of snapping bone cut through the air, followed instantly by Chagai's agonized cry. His hand went limp and the broadsword slipped from his useless fingers.

A broken wrist wasn't enough to stop an orc warrior, though. Chagai bared his teeth and lunged, sinking them into Ghaji's right shoulder-the one already bruised and battered from his collision with Chagai's breastplate. Ghaji's hide was tougher than a human's but not as tough as a full orc's, and Chagai's teeth sliced into Ghaji's flesh as easily as a white-hot knife through butter. Now it was Ghaji's turn to bellow in pain.

He felt hot blood gush from his wound and splatter onto his chest. The agony was so intense that he thought for a moment that he might lose consciousness. Though he might be only half-orc, he was all warrior, so he fought to ignore the pain. He tossed his axe from his right hand to his left, then swung the butt-end of the weapon upward and smashed the handle into Chagai's right temple. The blow jarred Chagai's head, causing the teeth embedded into Ghaji's shoulder to jerk violently and send a fresh wave of agony surging though the half-orc's arm. He let out another bellow of pain, but he refused to yield. He hit Chagai in the head once, twice, three times more.

Chagai's eyes went wide, and Ghaji felt a soft chuff of air escape the orc's mouth and waft across his shoulder wound. Then Chagai collapsed, and since his teeth were still stuck in Ghaji's shoulder, the half-orc was pulled down with his foe. As they hit, Chagai's teeth tore free from Ghaji, causing pain so intense that Ghaji blacked out.

When he came to, he was lying on his back looking up at a blue, cloud-dotted sky. He turned his head, though it hurt like blazes to do so, and saw that Chagai lay next to him. The orc's eyes were closed, and Ghaji couldn't tell if he were alive or dead, not that he much cared at this point; he was just glad Chagai wasn't trying to kill him. He pressed two fingers against the side of Chagai's neck and felt his pulse. It was weak but steady. It appeared the mercenary commander would live. Too bad.

Slowly, painfully, Ghaji rose to his feet. He'd dropped his axe when Chagai's dead weight had pulled him down, but he didn't bother to retrieve the weapon. Chagai was no longer a threat, at least for now. Besides, Ghaji was too weary from the battle and too weak from blood loss to wield the weapon. He pressed a hand to his shoulder wound to staunch the bleeding, then turned to see where Eggera and Murtt were. The two orcs remained by the oak tree, but now they were standing, swords in hand.

Ghaji sighed. "If you plan to kill me, get on with it. I'm too tired to stop you."

Eggera and Murtt glanced at each other, then shrugged and returned their swords to their scabbards.

"It was a fair fight," Eggera said.

"Chagai got what he deserved," Murtt said with a derisive snort. "He should never have attacked you… especially from behind. There was no honor in it."

Ghaji wanted to say that there was no honor in slaughtering a cottage full of innocents, but he didn't see much point in bringing that up right then.

"What will you do now, Ghaji?" Eggera asked.

The question was innocent enough, but there was something in the female orc's tone that added an extra layer of meaning to her words. Battle-prowess was a prime requisite for orcs when searching for a lover. It seemed even a half-orc could make himself attractive to the opposite sex if he bested a superior opponent. Ghaji didn't know whether to be pleased by this development or angered that it had taken his almost getting killed to get Eggera to notice him. In the end, he decided to ignore the matter entirely.

"There's a war on. I'm sure I'll find work elsewhere." Once I heal, he added. "What of you two? Will you still follow Chagai?"

Murtt's disdainful grimace was sufficient answer. Still, he said, "Chagai has been defeated and by a half-blood, no less. He is no longer worthy of leading us." He turned to Eggera. "Let's go."

Eggera looked at Ghaji once more, a question in her eyes. Ghaji responded by looking away. A moment later he heard the sound of the two orcs walking away. He didn't turn around again for several moments, lest he give Eggera the wrong impression, then he spent some time cleaning and bandaging his wound. When he was finished, he returned to Chagai's side. The orc was beginning to stir, though he had a way to go to reach full consciousness. Ghaji picked up his axe with his left hand and stared down at his former commander. There was no honor in slaying a defenseless foe, but then Chagai hadn't worried about that last night at the wood-wright's cottage, had he? Ghaji wasn't skilled with using his left hand to fight, but he thought he could wield his axe well enough to do what had to be done.

He pressed the edge of his axe blade to Chagai's throat, and in his mind he once more heard the screams of the wood-wright and his family as they died. Slaying Chagai would be justice, but slaying Chagai while he was helpless would make Ghaji just like him.

Ghaji hesitated. Finally, he pulled the axe away from Chagai's throat and tucked it beneath his belt. Let Chagai live with the knowledge that he'd been beaten by a half-blood. That would be far worse for him than death.

Ghaji turned to go, then he stopped. He turned back around and looked at Chagai's breastplate. There was a small dent from where Ghaji had slammed into the metal, but otherwise it was still good as new-if you didn't count the blood splashed on it from Ghaji's shoulder wound.

If I'm going to strike out on my own, I could use some armor, he thought.

He knelt down and began undoing the breastplate's leather straps.

Ghaji opened his eyes to darkness. His head throbbed and his throat felt as if he'd been gargling with the stomach acid of a purple worm. He tried to move and when he couldn't, he realized that his hands and feet were bound.

If I had a copper piece for every time I've been taken prisoner…

The last Ghaji remembered was being attacked by Haaken and the Coldhearts. If he had to bet where he was, he'd guess the hold of the Coldhearts' ship. Was Diran here as well? He opened his mouth to whisper his friend's name, but when Ghaji tried to speak, he started coughing, and it took several moments for him to regain control of himself.

"Don't worry. It's a side-effect of the drug the Coldhearts used." Diran's voice was soft and scratchy but audible. "It's called the amber sleep, and it's made from the leaves of a plant that grows in the jungles of Xen'drik. It's rare and quite expensive. I wonder how Haaken got hold of it."

"How do you know? Oh, right. Former assassin." Ghaji struggled to break free of his bonds, but they held tight. He gave up and turned toward Diran's direction. "Do you still have any of your daggers?"

"Unfortunately not. Haaken and his people not only removed the daggers I carried on my person, they also took my cloak."

Ghaji was disappointed but not surprised. After all, his axe had been taken as well. Still, they weren't completely without weapons. "If you're not already lying down, Diran, do so."

Ghaji heard rustling nearby. "Done," Diran said.

Ghaji sighed. He really didn't want to do this, but he could think of no other way that they could get free. He wriggled over to Diran, lay down on his side, and shifted position until his head was next to Diran's wrists. Then Ghaji opened his mouth, and using his sharp teeth, he began to carefully gnaw upon the rope binding his friend's arms behind his back. It only took a few moments for Ghaji to free Diran's hands, and after he shifted position once more, his feet.

Ghaji spat several times. "I hate the taste of rope."

"I appreciate your sacrifice, my friend. Allow me to return the favor."

"Nothing personal, Diran, but you don't have the teeth for it."

Diran chuckled. "Perhaps not, but allow me to see what I can find that might serve the same purpose."

Ghaji listened as Diran searched the hold. He heard boxes being moved, lids being opened, contents shifted about as Diran felt around for something that would cut Ghaji's bonds. The half-orc's night vision adjusted to the hold's darkness, and he was able to make out Diran's form as the priest moved silently among the cargo, searching. After some time had passed without Diran having any success, Ghaji began to think that maybe things would go faster if his friend did employ his blunt human teeth to gnaw through the rope binding his wrists and ankles, but finally Diran said, "Ah, here we are!"

"What did you find?"

Diran returned to Ghaji's side. The half-orc could see that his friend held some sort of object in his right hand, but Ghaji couldn't quite make out what it was.

"A broken sword. Someone must've left it down here in hopes of either repairing it or selling to a smith as scrap. The edge is somewhat dull, but it should serve."

Diran knelt down next to Ghaji and began sawing at his bonds with the broken sword. Diran only needed to cut partway through the rope, just enough to weaken it so Ghaji could break free, and within moments, Ghaji was standing next to Diran and rubbing his wrists.

"What now?" Ghaji asked. "Do we storm the deck without weapons and take on Haaken and his crew with our bare hands?"

"As emotionally satisfying as that might be, it hardly seems practical, does it?" Diran replied.

"So we wait down here for Haaken to come get us and try to take him by surprise? That doesn't seem like much of a plan, either."

"True," Diran admitted. "I found a crate of oil. I suppose we could use it to start a fire."

"And do what? Die of smoke inhalation? What if we survive the fire but the ship goes down? As cold as the Lhazaar is, we'd die."

Diran didn't disagree with him. "If Haaken simply wanted to kill us, he could have done so easily while we were unconscious. He's obviously got something else in mind for us, and I wouldn't be surprised if whatever it is lies at the end of our journey. Perhaps an opportunity for escape shall present itself once we arrive at our destination."

"What do we do in the meantime?" Ghaji asked. "Just sit here in the hold and twiddle our thumbs?"

"Well, I also found a crate of wine…"

Ghaji thought for a moment then shrugged. "Sounds like a plan."

Skarm stood at the end of the dock in goblin form, watching as the elemental sloop sped silently out to sea. The barghest possessed many strengths, but flying wasn't among them, and while he could swim quite fast in his natural form, there was no way he could ever hope to catch up to a vessel as swift as that one. The dragonwand had eluded him again.

In frustration, he gnashed teeth that looked more lupine than goblin. He'd followed the priest's companions as they made their way to the dock and had observed their meeting with the female vampire-from a safe distance, of course. Skarm had considered making an attempt to snatch the dragonwand then, while everyone was preoccupied, but in the end he'd decided against it. If the vampire was another of the priest's allies-though Skarm didn't see how such a thing was possible-then she might well try to stop him. Barghests were strong enough to hold their own against a vampire if need be, but the outcome of such a battle would be in doubt. In the end, Skarm had decided against taking such a risk and had continued to observe and trail behind the others as they continued on to the dock, boarded the elemental sloop, and set sail, leaving Skarm behind.

The barghest was beginning to worry. Nathifa was extremely patient as only the undead could be. After all, she'd been scheming to get her hands on the dragonwand-or rather, the dragonhead affixed to it-for decades, but now that she was so close to achieving her goal, she wouldn't tolerate many more delays. If he didn't get his hands on the dragonhead soon, it would go badly for him.

From what Skarm had overheard while following the priest's friends, it sounded as if they intended to return to Perhata after rescuing the priest and his half-orc servant. Provided they weren't all killed in the attempt, of course. If so, then he would have another opportunity to take the dragonhead when they once more made port. All he had to do was wait.

He shifted to wolf form. He would be able to hide more effectively in this body, and his animal senses would help alert him when the priest and his companions returned. He padded silently down the deserted dock, intending to find a hiding place in one of the alleys between the various warehouses, fish-sellers, and taverns located nearby, but as he passed one particular vessel-a small trading ship-he caught a whiff of blood mingled with the air's saltwater tang. Intrigued, he leapt aboard the vessel with lupine grace. Sniffing as he went, he traced the smell to the ship's hold. He shifted back to goblin form, opened the hatch, and climbed down the ladder.

Save for some crates and supplies, the hold was empty. Skarm shifted back to wolf form and sniffed the air. The smell of blood was stronger here, as was another smell: the faint sour-musty stink of decay. Skarm recognized it as the scent of a vampire, and not just any vampire-the one who'd accompanied the priest's friends on their rescue mission. He sniffed once more and caught a human's scent… a male. Skarm's lupine mouth stretched into a goblinish smile. Evidently the vampire woman had fed here and then disposed of the body before leaving. Too bad. Even drained of blood, the corpse would've made a nice snack for Skarm. He consoled himself by licking up the few drops of blood the vampire had spilled-they were almost dry, but still tasty enough-and then he returned to goblin form and climbed back up onto the deck. He was grateful the Dark Six had led him to this vessel: she would make a suitable vantage point to wait for the priest and his friends to make port again.

After a quick search to satisfy himself that there was no one else on board, he changed back into his wolf form and settled down on the deck, head on paws, eyes closed, alert for any sound or scent that would indicate his prey's return.