Forge of the Mindslayers

CHAPTER EIGHT

Diran was already seated at their table when Ghaji returned to the common room of the King Prawn. Tresslar and Hinto sat with him, watching Yvka perform a juggling routine for the crowd. The half-orc warrior was still brooding over his less-than-tender reunion with Chagai, but the sight of the elf-woman tossing small wooden balls through the air with almost preternatural grace caused him to smile. It had been far too long since he had seen her perform, and he was glad that he hadn't missed it. He moved through the crowd, took the empty seat next to Diran, and waved for a mug of ale. While he waited for his drink to arrive, he concentrated on Yvka.

She was performing a routine that he'd seen before but which he still found fascinating. She appeared to be juggling-he did a quick count-fourteen balls, but as she threw them, they began to disappear one by one, until only two remained. Then the reverse happened: balls began to reappear one by one until once again all fourteen were circling through the air. On more than one occasion, Ghaji had asked her how she did it, but Ykva would only grin and say, "Magic." Ghaji supposed that was always a possibility, but he had the feeling she was teasing him. He watched her closely now, determined to figure out how she performed the illusion through concentrated observation. Of course, the fact that she was incredibly beautiful might have had more than a little to do with his intense scrutiny as well.

A serving girl brought his ale, he took a deep draught, then he fixed his attention on one specific ball. If he could just keep his gaze on that one and follow it the entire time, he might able to finally figure this trick out.

Despite his best efforts, and without his even realizing it was happening, his thoughts began to drift back across the years, to a small farm in the Eldeen Reaches…

Four orcs crouched in the grass at the edge of the valley. Well, three orcs and one half-orc. The orcs kept their distance from their half-brother whenever possible, keeping a minimum of two feet from him at all times, as if they believed he were tainted and unclean and his foulness might contaminate them if they got too close. Ghaji acted as if their aversion to his physical proximity didn't bother him, as if he accepted it as only right and proper, but inside he hated it-hated it like poison.

The moons were out tonight and the sky was nearly cloudless. To orc eyes that meant the valley was lit almost as bright as if it were a sunny day. Nestled within the small valley was a humble cottage of stone, wood, and thatch. The cottage was dark, save for the warm glow of lamplight filtering through the shutters of a single window. The land around the cottage had been cleared, and a well-worn trail wound from the cottage's front door, up and out of the valley. The trail was on the opposite side of the valley from where the orcs crouched. They were proud warriors and strong, but they weren't foolish enough to remain in plain sight while they were hunting. There was no trail here, but there were plenty of trees-oak and elm, mostly-and more than enough brush to provide cover. Despite the lateness of the hour, birds sang, and Ghaji found their mindless joy distracting and irritating. He chuffed air through his lips to frighten the foolish creatures into silence, but as soon as the sound came out of his mouth, he saw a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye and fiery pain erupted on the side of his head.

He turned to see Chagai glaring at him, teeth bared in fury. Ghaji's face stung from where Chagai's claws had raked the flesh, and he could feel blood trickling from the wounds. Though the scratches were deep and hurt like blazes, Ghaji was determined not to display any signs of discomfort. A real orc would scarcely feel the pain, let alone react to it.

The other two orcs-a female named Eggera and a male named Murtt, the latter of whom Ghaji had known since childhood-snuffled silent laughter. Ghaji was an adult by orc standards, if only barely, and he knew better than to make noise during a hunt. He really did, but he had allowed his excitement to get the better of him, and he'd forgotten himself. No doubt the others were thinking that the stupid half-blood had fouled up again, and were once more questioning why they allowed him to hunt with them-Chagai especially. While the four of them were currently in the employ of the bandit lord Medard the Strong, Chagai was the leader of their group, and Ghaji was permitted to fight with them only as long as Chagai allowed it. If he made too many mistakes Chagai would banish him without a second thought, and while Ghaji could always find work fighting alongside human mercenaries, he'd worked long and hard to get the chance to serve with full-blooded orcs. He was determined to stay with them no matter what it took, until they finally accepted him as one of their own.

Ghaji remembered something Chagai had said on another occasion when he'd made a mistake.

Too bad your father didn't have the good sense not to rape an orc-or at least know enough to use a charm to keep from getting the stupid sow pregnant!

Ghaji was grateful that all Chagai had done was strike him this time. Orc claws hurt far less than orc words.

Ghaji cast his gaze to the ground and nodded to Chagai in apology and obeisance. He kept his gaze lowered and waited to see if Chagai were going to hit him again, for the orc commander was well within his rights to do so, but Chagai let out a snort that was scarcely quieter than Ghaji's earlier chuff and then turned away. The message was clear: Ghaji wasn't worth dirtying Chagai's claws any further. Ghaji waited a few moments more, just to be sure, before raising his head.

The orcs were waiting for the lamplight in the cottage to be extinguished and the occupants to settle in for the night. Such stealth wasn't strictly necessary, of course. There were four of them, after all, and the man they had come to kill was only a simple wood-wright and not a warrior. Still, he was a shifter, and orcs respected the strength his kind were capable of summoning when need be, so they would try to gain every advantage they could before approaching the cottage. The wood-wright and his family would eventually go to sleep, then the orcs could take them by surprise. It wouldn't be as much fun-or gain them as much honor-as a direct assault, but then Medard was paying them for results, not for them to increase their honor.

The lamplight went out.

They waited an hour longer, telling time by the movements of the stars and moons, and then Chagai signaled for them to stand and follow him. Together, the three orcs and one half-blood drew their weapons and silently loped down into the valley toward the wood-wright's cottage. Ghaji wore a simple leather armor vest for protection and carried a hand axe, both of which he'd retrieved from the first soldier he'd ever killed, back before joining Chagai's group. Murtt and Eggera wore mail armor and helmets and carried broadswords which, with their strength, they could wield one-handed. Ghaji was stronger than a human, but not strong enough to wield a broadsword one-handed for very long. Chagai, as their leader, possessed the best equipment. His broadsword was of higher quality than the others, forged of finer steel and made with more skilled craftsmanship. His polished helm was adorned with two metal horns that jutted forward and which the orc commander could use as stabbing weapons if he wished. Best of all was the new breastplate he wore. Its shiny surface was smooth and unscratched, and Medard had given it to Chagai as a bonus for the numerous raids they'd conducted on supply caravans last month. Ghaji thought the breastplate looked magnificent, and he wondered what it would feel like to wear such a fine thing.

As they ran across the grass-covered ground, muscles moving in fluid harmony and hearts pounding in excitement, Ghaji felt as if he inhabited a timeless moment of perfection. The cool night air rushing past him, the moons and stars above, fellow orcs running by his side… well, running several steps ahead of him, as was only proper, but still, running together, at least… he didn't think anything could be better. If he were to die this night, he would die happy.

The odds of any of them dying tonight seemed slim indeed, though. Ruelo was a wood-wright, one known, among other things, for his ability to mystically craft arrows whose shafts were nigh unbreakable, and which flew faster and farther than ordinary arrows could. Medard had once purchased vast quantities of arrows from Ruelo, but the wood-wright claimed to have grown sick of the seemingly endless War, sick of using his skills to create instruments of death, and had sworn to never make another weapon of any sort ever again. Medard, however, believed that Ruelo was simply making an excuse, that the shifter had gotten a better deal with another of the bandit lords that harried the Eldeen Reaches. As far as Medard was concerned, if he couldn't have Ruelo's arrows, then no one could.

As the orcs drew near the cottage, Chagai motioned to Murtt and Eggera to head around the back. They veered away. When Ghaji had been younger, he would've thought it a mark of honor that their leader wished him to remain by his side. Now he knew it was because Chagai felt Ghaji needed watching. When they reached the cottage, Chagai-barely slowing-slammed his shoulder into the door, causing it to burst open in a shower of splintered wood. Chagai rushed inside and Ghaji followed, the thunder of his pulse sounding a bloodsong in his ears. The hunt was finished, and it was time for the killing to begin.

The one-room cottage was empty, save for simple wooden furniture-dining table and chairs, a long bench and several stools arranged in front of a cold hearth. A wooden ladder led to a sleeping loft just below the thatched ceiling. Atop the dining table was an everbright lantern that only a short time ago had been warming the cottage with its glow, along with a scattering of materials used in the wood-wright's art: narrow wooden shafts, feathers for fletching, metal arrowheads. Ghaji grinned. It appeared that Medard's suspicions about the shifter were correct after all.

Chagai rushed toward the ladder, and Ghaji followed, eager to wet his axe-blade in shifter blood, but before they could take more than a few steps, a male shifter wearing only a breech cloth stood up behind the loft's wooden railing. The shifter's fur was tinged with gray, but his muscles were still lean and strong. His full bestial aspect was upon him-face hirsute, features animalistic, fangs bared. The shifter held a bow with an arrow nocked, and his eyes blazed with fury as he lifted the weapon and aimed the shaft at Chagai's heart.

Ghaji didn't think. He hurled his axe at the shifter. The weapon flew upward, tumbling end over end, and the blade buried itself with a hollow thunk in the man's forehead. The shifter's eyes widened in surprise and he released his grip on the arrow. The shaft, regardless of any mystical properties it might have possessed, flew wild, missing Chagai entirely. Blood poured down the shifter's face, spattered onto his chest, but the wood-wright remained standing long enough to fix Ghaji with an accusing stare before the man's gaze dimmed and he pitched forward over the railing to fall with a dull thud on the dirt floor below.

Ghaji turned to Chagai, hoping to hear appreciation for the well-thrown strike that might very well have saved the orc leader's life, but a crash came from the roof of the cottage then, immediately followed by screams of terror. Ghaji knew what had happened: Murtt and Eggera had climbed onto the roof, torn through the thatch, and forced their way into the loft. Now they had begun their slaughter of the wood-wright's family.

Chagai leaped over the wood-wright's body, and rushed to the ladder, eager to join in the killing above. Ghaji hesitated only a second before following after Chagai. The walls of the loft were drenched with blood, as were Eggera and Murtt. They were practically covered from head to toe, as if they'd been bathing in gore. Chagai stood over the body of a female shifter lying on the loft's floor, her body nearly cut in two by his broadsword. Chagai's chest heaved with excitement, and his eyes were wild, those of a predator intoxicated by the thrill of bringing down its prey. There were four pallets in the loft, two of them small. Murtt and Eggera each stood over one of the small pallets, their swords slick with blood. Lying below them on the crimson-soaked bedding were the hacked-up remains of what had once been two shifter children, their bodies so mutilated that Ghaji couldn't even begin to guess their gender.

The female shifter-the children's mother, Ghaji supposed-lifted a trembling hand in the direction of her children, as if she still hoped to do something, anything to save them, or perhaps simply wanted to offer one last bit of motherly comfort to their departing souls. Chagai noted the movement and with a swift motion thrust his sword blade into the back of the woman's head. She shuddered once and then fell still.

Chagai then turned to Ghaji and gave him a wide grin. "Good sport tonight, eh?"

Ghaji knew the camaraderie in the orc leader's tone was meant as both a compliment and a thank-you for his slaying of the wood-wright. Chagai was, for the very first time, treating Ghaji as if he were an equal. It was what Ghaji had wanted so long and worked so hard for, so why didn't it mean anything to him now?

He stared at the red wet chunks of meat that only a short time ago had been a pair of children sleeping peacefully in their beds. Then he forced himself to return Chagai's grin, though he feared it came out more like a grimace.

"Good sport."

Ghaji felt a small elbow jab him in the ribs, and he looked down to see Hinto frowning at him.

"Unless you want your lady love to think you're losing interest in her, you'd best pay more attention, Greenie," the halfling whispered.

Ghaji hated it when Hinto called him that, but he was so grateful to be pulled out of the memory of that awful night at the wood-wright's cottage that he nodded, took another sip of his bilge-water ale, and refocused his attention on Yvka. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't completely chase away the image of the mother's trembling hand, reaching out to her children one last time before she died.

Skarm thanked whatever dark powers watched over barghests that the elf-woman had gotten up from her table, taken up a position in a corner of the common room, and started juggling. Her companions-including the elderly artificer-were watching her with rapt attention, providing him with a perfect distraction. He'd been observing the elf-woman's act along with the rest of the audience, and he noted that her tricks had become increasingly more complex, and she performed them with increasing speed. He sensed that she was building toward the climax of her act, and once she reached it…

The elf-woman was currently juggling a quintet of spheres that appeared to be formed of solid light. She hurled all five toward the ceiling of the common room, and they merged together, forming a large light sculpture of a dragon in flight. The drake's eyes blazed and a glittering stream of what seemed to be diamonds poured forth from its open mouth. There were awed murmurs of appreciated from the audience as the diamonds swirled through the air, circling the room above the people's heads, the illusion so realistic that more than a few men and women reached up to try to snag a diamond for themselves. The light dragon then began to glow bright as a summer sun, and all in attendance were utterly transfixed by the sight, breathless with anticipation of what would happen next…

Now! Skarm thought, and made his move.

Hinto knew that Yvka was performing a trick, that the dragon wasn't real and couldn't hurt him, but that knowledge did nothing to prevent the feeling of panic that coiled tight within his belly and which threatened to spring free any instant. As the light dragon glowed more intensely, he averted his gaze and stared down at the surface of the table, gripping its wooden edge tight. He told himself to hold on, to ride the panic out. He'd spent his lifetime on the sea, and he'd learned how to weather storms before he could walk. And not just any storms-those on the Lhazaar were rougher and deadlier than anywhere else in all the vast oceans of Eberron. If he could survive the Lhazaar's fury, he should be able to withstand something as simple as his own fear.

Since his time shipwrecked in the Mire, fear was no longer so simple for Hinto. Intense, overwhelming, paralyzing… it grabbed hold of him with ice-cold hands and crushed him in its grip, reducing him to a quivering mass of terror. He knew his friends understood-even Ghaji, who pretended to be gruff and unfriendly much of the time-and while Hinto appreciated their understanding, he didn't want them to pity him, and he didn't want his fear-attacks to cause him to let them down when they needed him, like yesterday in the lich's lair, the latest in a string of similar incidences over the last several months. So far, his panic and resultant inability to act hadn't caused injury or death to any of his friends, but Hinto feared that it was only a matter of time before it did. He had to get control of himself, had to learn to master his fear-not just for himself but for his friends.

Hinto was not looking at Yvka's light dragon when a cloaked and hooded goblin crept up next to Tresslar and snatched the artificer's dragonwand from under his belt. As soon as the goblin had the wand in hand, he dashed for the door.

Hinto cried out, "Tresslar, your wand!" and leaped out of his seat in pursuit of the thief. A lifetime at sea had kept Hinto strong and lean. He weaved between tables and chairs-sometimes ducking under tabletops if necessary-and caught hold of the goblin's cloak before the thief could reach the door.

Hinto spun the goblin around and took hold of his shoulders with a firm grip to make sure he didn't try to run again. "Here, now, what do you think-"

Hinto broke off as he saw the goblin's scarred visage, the eyes that blazed with orange fire, the mouthful of teeth far sharper than any ordinary goblin's should be. The halfling felt a sudden cold fluttering in his stomach and in his mind he saw tentacles rising out of the sea, swaying slowly in the darkness as they cast about in search of prey. The tentacles ended in tiny mouths that opened and closed hungrily…

Hinto let out a soft cry and released his hold on the goblin. He staggered back, his entire body shaking, his knees gone weak as water. His head swam, the world titled, and he collapsed to the earthen floor and shook like a leaf caught in a gale-force wind. He struggled to regain control of his body, but it was no good. His fear held him completely in thrall, and all he could do was watch in despair and shame as the goblin-or whatever it was-made for the door.

He's going to get away with Tresslar's wand, and it's all my fault!

Just as the goblin's hand-a hand that was now clawed and covered with gray fur-reached for the door handle, a small sphere came arcing from the far side of the common room. Yvka had hurled one of her juggling balls at the creature. The goblin looked up in time to see the smooth wooden sphere coming at him, and in reflex he lifted his free hand and caught the ball before it could strike him.

The goblin sneered. "Is that the best you can-" Crackling tendrils of blue-white energy erupted from the ball, ran up his arm and covered his entire body. There was an acrid smell of burning fur, and the goblin let out an animalistic howl of pain. He dropped the dragonwand, but though he tried to let go of the lightning-ball, it seemed affixed to his hand, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake it loose.

Diran and Ghaji were up and moving toward the wounded goblin, weapons drawn and ready. Hinto tried once more to rise to his feet so he could help his friends, but his body still refused to obey him and all he could do was continue to lie trembling on the floor and observe.

Diran and Ghaji reached the goblin, and the creature slammed his wrist into the wall. There was a sickening sound of bones snapping, but the impact was sufficient to break the lightning-ball's hold, and the sphere tumbled from the goblin's hand. As soon as the ball was no longer in contact with the goblin's flesh, the lightning cocoon that surrounded him winked out, and he was free. He bent down to snatch up the dragonwand once more, but Diran hurled a dagger. The blade thunked into the ground next to the wand, sinking into the earth up the hilt, the cross-piece pinning the mystical object to the floor. The goblin looked up at Diran and snarled, and the orange light in his eyes seemed to blaze outward as if it were tongues of angry flame. The goblin's form blurred and shifted, and when it came into focus once more, the goblin had become a humanoid wolf-creature that Hinto recognized as a barghest-the barghest, he realized, the one they'd encountered yesterday in the lich's lair.

Ghaji stepped forward to attack the beast, his elemental axe bursting into flame, but the barghest, whose body still bore burnt patches from the wounds he'd suffered during their last battle, howled in frustration and threw itself back against the door. Already shaky from the appearance of the Coldhearts earlier, the door gave way easily beneath the barghest's weight, and the creature tumbled out into the street. Ghaji ran outside after it, Diran following close behind.

Tresslar ran past Hinto and crouched down next to his wand. He pried Diran's dagger free, then reclaimed his most prized mystical object, gripping it tight as if he feared someone else might attempt to steal it. Yvka came over and knelt down next to Hinto. The elf-woman slowly stroked his sweaty hair with one hand, while she gently took hold of his with the other.

"It's all right, Hinto. The creature didn't get Tresslar's wand, and Diran and Ghaji will take care of him."

Hinto gritted his teeth as a fresh wave of tremors wracked his body. It wasn't all right, and he didn't know if it was ever going to be again.

The fog still blanketed Perhata's dockside, and if it hadn't been for the light given off by Ghaji's blazing axe, Diran wouldn't have been able to see anything. As it was, he could see very little, and he certainly didn't see any sign of the barghest.

"I can't get his scent," Ghaji said. "Too many other smells here-the ocean, dead fish, and other odors I'd rather not discuss, so either you call upon the Silver Flame for guidance, or we pick a direction and start searching."

Diran considered. Barghests were infernal creatures, and while they were hardly all-powerful, they were swift-especially in full wolf form. The odds that he and Ghaji would be able to track a wolf, and an intelligent one at that, on a fog-shrouded night such as this were hardly favorable.

"We stopped it from taking Tresslar's dragonwand and drove it off," Diran said. "That's enough for one night, don't you think?"

Ghaji doused the flames of his axe, and the darkness closed in around them. "It galls me to let the creature go, especially since this is our second encounter with him. You think he followed us into town just to get hold of Tresslar's wand?"

"Perhaps. The barghest might wish to take revenge on the ones who destroyed his mistress and wounded him."

"Why try to steal the wand? That doesn't seem like much of a revenge to me."

"Barghests are magical creatures, and it's not unreasonable to think this one might have some mystical knowledge of his own. Perhaps he intended to use the dragonwand as a weapon against us." Even as he said it, Diran didn't think much of his theory. He sensed there was something more to the barghest's attempted theft of Tresslar's wand, but he couldn't say what. "Whatever the case, I think that we should make tracking down and slaying this barghest our next order of business."

Ghaji grinned and tightened his grip on his axe. "Where do we start?"

"I think you may have to put your plans on hold for a time-say, forever."

Diran still had hold of one of the daggers he'd drawn when Hinto had alerted them to the barghest's presence. Now he didn't hesitate; he threw the dagger in the direction the voice-Haaken's voice-came from, but before Diran could tell whether his blade had found its target, a large shape came at them out of the darkness, and he felt the heavy mesh of a fishing net descend upon them. The net was heavy enough on its own, but it was weighted down with lead balls at the edges to help it sink into the sea more effectively. It forced Diran and Ghaji to their knees. Ghaji's axe flared bright, and Diran knew his friend intended to burn their way free of the net. Not one to wait on someone else to save him, Diran pulled a dagger from one of the hidden sheathes sewn into the inner lining of his cloak and began sawing away at the net's mesh. They only needed a few seconds, and then they would-

Haaken stepped forward until Diran could make out the dim outline of his form. "You don't really think we'd give you a chance to escape, do you?"

His hand shot forth, and he released a fine amber powder into the air. The powder diffused into a small yellow cloud that surrounded Diran and Ghaji, and though the two companions knew enough to hold their breath, Haaken and another of the Coldhearts stepped forward-they had scraps of cloth tied over their noses and mouths, Diran saw-and kicked them in the ribs. Breath exploded from their lungs, and then in reflex, they breathed in. Whatever the drug was, it was powerful, and it took effect immediately. Diran saw Ghaji's axe-flame extinguish as the half-orc lost consciousness.

Diran felt his own body begin to go numb, and as darkness rushed in to take him, he heard Haaken say, "Well, that was easier than I thought it would be."

Asenka was on the way back to the King Prawn with a detachment of three Sea Scorpions when they nearly collided with Haaken and his people in the fog. The Coldhearts were carrying something wrapped in a fishing net-something that looked suspiciously like two bodies, and she had a damn good idea who those bodies belonged to.

Asenka drew her sword, and her people did the same. "If you want to leave Perhata alive, Haaken, you'll put them down now."

Haaken grinned. "We outnumber you two to one, Asenka." Only four of Haaken's people carried the net-wrapped bodies. The other four, Haaken included, had their swords in hand, and they now touched the points of their blades to their captives. "Unless you want us to gut these two here and now, I suggest you make way and allow us safe passage."

Asenka thought swiftly. If she let the Coldhearts go, they'd simply kill Diran and Ghaji later, but if she attempted to stop them here, Diran and Ghaji would be skewered, and she doubted she'd be able to get them to a healer before they perished. As much as it galled her, she didn't see how she had any choice.

"Very well, Haaken. You have safe passage." She stepped aside and motioned for her people to do the same. She lowered her sword, though she didn't sheathe it. She wasn't stupid enough to give Haaken the opportunity to kill her in the bargain.

"A wise decision, Asenka," the Coldheart leader said. "I always thought there was a reasonable person underneath that cold bitch exterior." He laughed, and his people joined in. "One more thing: I was thinking of just slicing your friends' throats and dumping them over the side for the sharks, but I've decided these two deserve something a bit more special, so we're going to drop them off on Demothi Island."

Asenka felt a cold stab of fear pierce her gut. "You can't be serious!"

Haaken laughed even harder. He motioned for his people to move out, and the Coldhearts continued on toward the docks, bearing their captives off to their horrible fate.

Demothi Island…

Asenka wondered if it wouldn't have been kinder to let Haaken kill Diran and Ghaji outright. She turned to her people. "Head for the barracks and alert the others that the Coldhearts are making for the dock. Stop them if you can. I'm going to the King Prawn to alert Diran's companions."

From what she'd learned about his friends during her conversation with Diran, she thought they might have just as good a chance of saving Diran and Ghaji as the Sea Scorpions would-maybe better.

As the rest of the detachment ran off to carry out their commander's order, Asenka ran in the direction of the King Prawn. She only hoped that she'd get there before Haaken and his people could make sail.

Makala soared above the buildings of dockside in bat form, wheeling and darting above the fog layer, exulting in the beauty of moon and starlight and the delicious freedom of not being shackled to the ground. She'd considered attempting to speak with Diran tonight, but it had been months since he'd allowed her to choose death at his hands or life as a vampire, and though she'd kept watch over him ever since, she hadn't so much as allowed him to see her, let alone speak to him. She thought perhaps he was aware of her presence from time to time, but if so, he'd never sought her out. Perhaps he didn't want to see her again. Perhaps he regretted his decision to let her live. He was a priest of the Silver Flame, one of the Purified, dedicated to destroying evil in all its myriad manifestations. Perhaps Diran had been avoiding her because he knew that if they encountered one another again, he'd be forced to destroy her.

Maybe she was simply afraid of witnessing the revulsion in his eyes once he saw how much she had become a creature of the night since they'd parted. Every night she awoke she felt there was less of the woman Makala left in her and more of the dark thing she was becoming. It had taken Erdis Cai the better part of four decades to lose the last shreds of his humanity. Makala, perhaps because of the dark spirit she'd once played host to, seemed to be changing far more swiftly. She wondered how much longer it would be before the woman she had been truly died at last, and she became a monster in both body and soul. Look at what she'd done-or almost done-to Asenka tonight. Simply because she'd been jealous, she'd threatened the woman, been tempted to feed on her, even though she'd fed on Eneas earlier.

No, she couldn't see Diran again, not in person. She would just have to content herself with acting as his unseen guardian, watching over him and helping him secretly whenever she could.

Though it was not yet midnight, Makala was weary-in spirit if not in body-and she decided to fly back to the dock and return to the Boundless and her obsidian sarcophagus. Perhaps if she were lucky, she'd fall into the torpor that vampires experienced instead of sleep before the dawn. If not… well, at least she'd be locked away where she could do no further harm this night.

As Makala drew near the docks, she felt the pull of the ocean. It tugged at her, as if exerting some form of magnetic force, urging her to come closer so that it could reach out with liquid hands and pull her down into its cold dark depths. It was as if all water-so vital to life-despised the undead and wanted nothing more than to destroy them. Though minor bodies of water such as streams and small rivers exerted the same pull, they were mere annoyances to vampires. Resisting the power of a sea took a great deal of strength. The sooner Makala was back aboard the Boundless and safe within her black coffin, the better.

She swooped down to the vessel, navigating by a complex interplay of bat senses, human intuition, and vampiric psychic abilities, but just as she reached the Boundless and was about to land upon the deck, she heard voices.

"Into the hold with those two, but go easy! I want the priest and his half-orc servant in the peak of health when we reach Demothi Island."

Makala didn't question how Diran and Ghaji had come to be captured. In life she had been more of a doer than a thinker, and death hadn't changed that quality in her. She banked upward, beating her wings as she flew toward the sound of wicked laughter. The ship was berthed at the furthermost end of the dock, and as Makala approached, she heard brisk movement-boots shuffling on deck, ropes being untied and cast off-and she knew that the vessel's occupants were preparing to get underway. Though she was only a few dozen yards closer to the open sea than where the Boundless was berthed, the mystic pull of the water was far stronger here, and as she angled down to the deck, she had to concentrate to resist the water's tug. It was as if the sea were interfering with her senses in an attempt to cause her to miss the ship and splash into the water, but she managed to make her descent-albeit an uncertain, wobbly one-and just as her tiny bat feet were about to come in contact with the wood, her form became living shadow that stretched and reformed itself into her natural shape.

It was part of a vampire's powers that personal items such as clothing and weaponry disappeared when one assumed an alternate shape and reappeared when one resumed human form. Makala had no idea where these objects went during her transformations, and she really didn't care. She was simply glad that the process worked the way it did. She drew her sword and cast about the deck, searching for the man who'd ordered Diran and Ghaji to be stowed in the hold. The fog was thinner at this end of the dock, and Makala, with her vampiric night-vision, had no trouble making out the forms of the ship's crew. They, however, being mere humans, could not see her. Makala decided to rectify that.

She willed the smoldering crimson flame that dwelt within her eyes to blaze and was rewarded with a shout of, "By the Host, what's that?"

It wasn't the captain's voice, so she assumed it was one of his underlings that spoke. No matter. She was certain the captain would hear her words.

"You've abducted two friends of mine." Makala spoke in a hollow-toned voice that seemed to issue forth from everywhere and nowhere all at once. She hoped the kidnappers would find the effect suitably chilling. "Release them and I'll allow you to depart in peace. Refuse, and I shall kill every one of you and then free them myself."

One of the crewmembers took several strides toward her, drawing his sword as he came. "Who might you be, missy? And more to the point, what makes you think you can scare us with your strangely spoken words and street-magician's light show?"

Makala smiled, revealing her fangs, though she doubted anyone could see them in the fog. "If you want to find out, just keep walking toward me."

The man hesitated. He was close enough now that Makala could make out his features despite the fog, and she saw he was tall, muscular, and blond-bearded. He carried a long-sword with the natural ease of someone who'd had so much practice wielding it over the years that the weapon had become virtually an extension of his own body. Not that it would do him any good.

She sniffed the air and smelled the blood coursing through the man's body. He was strong, in the prime of his life, and his blood smelled to her like the finest of wines. Makala's hunger welled within her, powerful and insistent, and for an instant she forgot about Diran and Ghaji. She pictured herself leaping upon the man and burying her fangs in the sweet-salty flesh of his neck, drinking deeply and letting the warm wet fluid that was life itself gush down her throat. She went so far as to take a step toward him, but she restrained herself. She wasn't an animal, and her friends-Diran-needed her.

"I have little patience," Makala said. "I'll say it one more time: release my friends or-"

She didn't get the chance to finish her ultimatum. A pair of sailors, both men and both as large and muscular as their captain-rushed at her from both sides and grabbed hold of her arms.

Blond-Beard grinned. "Looks like we have three passengers to ferry to Demothi Island now."

Unlike Diran, Makala hadn't been raised in the Principalities, and she'd never heard of Demothi Island. Whatever it was, Blond-Beard acted as if going there was some sort of terrible fate. Not that it mattered, for Makala had no intention of letting Blond-Beard and his crew set sail.

Makala flexed her arms and slammed the two sailors that had hold of her into each other. Their skulls collided with a sickening hollow sound, and the men slumped motionless to the deck.

"Cast off!" Blond-Beard bellowed to his crew. "Cast off now!"

Makala didn't know whether Blond-Beard realized she was a vampire and understood she'd be weakened by being out on the open water or whether the man was simply acting on instinct. Either way, she couldn't afford to let this vessel get underway.

She stepped forward, intending to strike at Blond-Beard with her sword, but before she could attack, the man reached beneath his tunic collar and withdrew a small metal object that dangled from a chain. He held the object out toward her, and intense pain flared through Makala's entire body, as if her veins had suddenly become filled with molten fire. The pendant's shape-an iron spiral with a small indigo gem at the center-was unfamiliar to her.

She dropped her sword and raised her arms to block the spiral from her sight. That lessened the pain, but only a little. Hissing like an angry cat, she backed away from Blond-Beard, but he followed her, advancing slowly step by step, making sure not to get too close but still keeping up the pressure on her, not allowing her to find escape or respite from the pain that was burning her up from the inside out. She continued retreating until her lower back bumped into the ship's port railing. Without thinking, driven solely by the all-encompassing need to get away from the spiral, she turned, hopped up onto the railing with inhuman grace, and then leaped out into space. She intended to transform into a bat and fly away from the ship and the agonizing metal spiral as fast as she could, but she was too wracked with pain to manage the change, and she plunged into the sea.

Frigid water enveloped her, and she felt herself sinking. No, not sinking-being drawn downward, as if unseen tendrils had encircled her body and were dragging her deeper and deeper. The sea, the cradle from which some said all life had been born, was pulling her, a creature of death, down to where she could harm no one ever again. She struggled, thrashing her arms and legs, attempting to swim back to the surface, but it was so hard… her limbs felt like heavy lead weights, and she felt a weariness coming over her, not unlike the daylight torpor in which she slept. It would be so easy to give up, to surrender, let the Lhazaar take her and be done with it.

Then she remembered: Diran needed her help.

She renewed her efforts, swimming with all of her strength, and slowly, inch by inch, she felt herself rising back toward the surface. It felt as if she struggled against the sea's pull for hours, but finally her head broke the surface and, though she no longer had any need for air, she drew in a gasping breath. She swam to the edge of the dock, reached up, gripped its wooden edge, and hauled herself out of the water. She lay on the dock, wet, cold, and shivering, but still alive-or at least not dead. The fog had thinned out even further during her struggle to escape the Lhazaar's embrace, and she could clearly see a ship drawing away from the dock.

Makala rose unsteadily to her feet, turned back toward shore, and began staggering down the dock. Each step was an effort, but she couldn't afford to take time to rest. She had to reach the Boundless and rouse Eneas before the other vessel could get too far out to sea. She had enough faith in the old sailor's skills to believe he'd be able to track the ship if they could set sail soon enough, though what the two of them might be able to do on their own against Diran and Ghaji's captors-especially with her weakened as she would be by being out on the water-she didn't know, but she had to try.

She reached the Boundless and climbed aboard, nearly collapsing in the process. She managed to stay on her feet and made her way down into the hull where she'd left Eneas slumbering. She was relieved to find the old sailor still there, snoring away as if he didn't have a care in the world. All she had to do was wake him and then they could get underway. She crouched down and put her hand on his shoulder, intending to give him a shake…

And then she caught the scent of his blood.

She'd been greatly weakened by her plunge into the sea, and she desperately needed to rebuild her strength. She tried to resist the urge, but she was too weak to do so.

Just a little, she told herself. Enough to help me function, and no more.

She bent down over Eneas's neck, bit into his flesh, and began to feed. Blood poured into her, trickling through her body, filling her with warmth and life. She was unaware of time as she fed, but when she felt strong once more, she drew away from Eneas and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Then, without thinking, she licked the smear of blood from her hand.

She then took hold of Eneas's shoulder and gave him a shake.

"Wake up, Eneas! I need your help!"

But the old sailor did not wake. Makala shook him harder, and his head slumped forward and lolled back and forth. That's when Makala realized she could no longer smell his living blood, couldn't feel his pulse through her fingertips on his shoulder. She had taken too much.

Guilt and sorrow filled her unbeating heart, followed immediately by anger. How could she have been so foolish? Without Eneas, there was no way that she could go after Diran and Ghaji. Even if she knew how to sail, as a vampire she couldn't operate the Boundless on open water. She needed help, but first, she had a duty to attend to.

"I'm sorry, Eneas. You were a good servant, and you deserved better than this."

Makala took firm hold of the sailor's head and with a single swift violent motion broke his neck. She then picked up his lifeless body, threw it over her shoulder, and climbed up onto the deck of his ship… her ship now, she supposed. Though what she would be able to do with it on her own, she had no idea. Once on the deck, she lay his body down and removed a dagger from a sheath on her belt. The blade was sharp, and with her strength it took her little time to sever Eneas's head from his body. There was no blood, for there was none remaining in the corpse.

Though the blade wasn't stained, Makala wiped the dagger off on Eneas's clothes before returning it to its sheath. Now that Eneas had been beheaded, there was no chance that he would return to life as a vampire. Still, she wanted to make sure. First she threw his head out to sea as far as she could, and then she tossed his body after it. Instead of floating, Eneas's remains hit the water and sank like stones as the sea claimed them.

Makala gazed at the rippling water for a moment longer before casting aside her human form and rising into the air on leather wings, bound for the King Prawn.