Sea of Death

CHAPTER ONE

Dark clouds covered the heavens, smothering both stars and moons, leaving the sea blacker than night, blacker than sin. The wind howled like the wailing of a thousand lost souls crying out their misery to a cold, uncaring world. A sleek sailing vessel-a one-masted sloop mounted on runners-moved swiftly across the dark water, cutting through the turbulent waves with ease and grace, as if she traveled over solid ice, her runners fitted with razor-sharp blades. Though the sloop traveled against the wind, her sail nevertheless billowed full, thanks to a torrent of air issuing from a metal containment ring mounted behind the sail. The ring glowed with an aura of sizzling blue-white energy, and the scent of hot metal lay acrid on the salty sea air.

At the prow of the vessel stood a figure draped in darkness, bone-white hands gripping the railing, ebon fingernails long and sharp as bird talons. She faced the wind, and though the frigid sea-spray struck her like pellets of ice, she didn't wince, didn't so much as blink, for her dead flesh felt nothing. She appeared to be cloaked in living shadow, tendrils of liquid darkness trailing behind her, undulating in the wind like the fronds of a strange undersea plant dancing at the mercy of a strong current.

Nathifa gazed into the night, and though her eyes were dead, still they saw-saw much farther than they ever had in life. She knew they were drawing near their destination, and her desiccated lips, which hadn't so much as twitched in all the hours she had stood motionless at the prow, now stretched into a slow smile, the movement cracking the layer of ice that had formed over her mouth during that time. Tiny shards of ice fell to the deck, taking bits of lip-flesh with them. Nathifa wasn't aware of the loss, and even if she had been, she wouldn't have cared. All she cared about-all she'd ever cared about, even back when she was alive-was satisfying her desires. And after over a century of patient, meticulous planning, she was now closer to her revenge than ever before. She had already gained possession of the golden dragonhead known as the Amahau, and on Demothi Island she would acquire the next item she needed. And after that…

"It shouldn't be much longer now."

A woman's voice, cold with a mocking edge. A new voice in Nathifa's undead existence, but one she had already grown to dislike. Nathifa responded without turning around.

"Indeed. It is as if you read my thoughts, Makala." Nathifa's voice was cold and hollow, like the inner chambers of an arctic tomb.

"Perhaps I did, lich."

Nathifa didn't move her body, but her head swiveled around to face Makala, rotating one hundred and eighty degrees like that of an owl. Nathifa no longer smiled. The woman who'd addressed her was medium height, with short blonde hair and fine, delicate features. Her pale skin was smooth, almost glossy like glazed pottery, and pinpoints of red light blazed within the depths of her eyes like crimson flame. She wore a red leather vest, brown leggings, boots, and a black cloak that fluttered behind her in the wind like the wings of a giant night raven. Makala carried a short sword belted around her waist, but steel was the least of her weapons. Ice crystals clung to her hair, skin, and clothing, but like Nathifa, she displayed no indication that she was aware of the cold, let alone bothered by it.

"Do not make sport of me, vampire." Nathifa's voice held a note of warning. "I can destroy you with a single whisper."

Makala smiled, revealing a pair of sharp incisors, and then bowed. "My apologies, Mistress. I meant no disrespect."

Makala raised her head and met Nathifa's gaze. Crimson light similar to that which smoldered in Makala's eyes burned bright within the hollow sockets of Nathifa's. Normally, a vampire would have been unable to withstand the intensity of a lich's gaze. But Makala didn't turn aside, didn't so much as blink… and she continued to smile with infuriating smugness. Nathifa wanted to spin around, lash out with a clawed hand, and rip the lower half of the woman's face to shreds. And she might have, except that she knew that Makala wasn't just a vampire. She carried another spirit within her, a dark entity of a kind Nathifa was unfamiliar with. It was this spirit that allowed Makala to endure the power of the lich's burning gaze without shrinking. And until Nathifa knew the full measure of Makala's strength, she would stay her hand.

Besides, she needed Makala's help in order to bring her vengeance to its final fruition. So let the vampire mock her for now. In the end, Nathifa would stand laughing over the woman's cold ashes as her spirit-as both of them-was swallowed by everlasting darkness.

Nathifa turned her head back around and looked out across the sea once more. "We shall reach Demothi Island well before dawn, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not worried. Didn't I tell you the Zephyr was a fast ship?"

"That you did," Nathifa said grudgingly. Once again, her dark mistress had provided, just as she had always done.

Makala went on. "I'm rather enjoying our journey. It's been some time since I found sea travel tolerable, let alone pleasant."

Vampires, while useful servants, possessed a number of weaknesses-aversion to sunlight and holy objects chief among them. They also had difficulty traveling across running water: even the smallest stream could give them trouble, causing discomfort and even pain. Passage across a river was worse, and sea travel was nearly impossible. Makala possessed a mystic obsidian sarcophagus that allowed vampires to endure sea travel as long as they remained sealed within. But Makala hadn't made use of the sarcophagus once during this entire voyage. She strode the deck with ease, displaying no signs of discomfort. No doubt another strength granted by the dark spirit housed within Makala's undead body. How many more might there be, Nathifa wondered, and the thought troubled her.

"It's a good thing that we're almost there," Makala said. "Your barghest could use a rest."

Nathifa turned away from the prow and glanced back toward the containment ring. A short orange-skinned creature with a bat-like face and large pointed ears sat upon a wooden chair behind the glowing metal ring. Skarm's left hand lay flat on a depression carved into one of the chair arms. The depression was formed in the shape of a slender, long-fingered hand larger than the goblin's. An elvish hand. The flesh-to-wood contact allowed whoever sat in the chair to control the wind elemental that had been bound to the containment ring. At Nathifa's order, Skarm had been keeping the elemental producing wind at full strength ever since they had departed the secluded cove near the city of Perhata. And while it took little mystic skill to control the elemental, it did require a certain amount of mental strength and life energy. It had been a while since Skarm had fed, and he'd never been especially gifted mentally. His eyes were weary, his cheeks hollow, and-though Nathifa couldn't make out any color in the darkness-she knew his normally orange complexion would be pale peach.

Skarm would need to rest soon. Otherwise, if he expended all the life energy he'd absorbed from his last prey, he would die and be useless. Well… even more useless than he already was, Nathifa thought.

She glanced at Makala. Vampires were undead, but they did feed upon the living.

Might the stolen blood that flowed through her veins be suitable to sustain Skarm, at least for a short time? Nathifa knew that the vampiric taint carried by Makala's blood would have no effect on Skarm since he was a barghest. And as he was already bound to Nathifa, drinking Makala's blood wouldn't grant her mystic control of him.

The lich smiled, impressed anew by her dark mistress's wisdom at sending the vampire to her.

"Makala, I want you to give Skarm a measure of your blood, enough to restore his strength until we reach Demothi Island."

The vampire looked at Nathifa for a long moment, face as expressionless as a marble statue. Nathifa thought that the woman might defy her, but in the end Makala simply inclined her head, turned, and began making her way sternward.

Satisfied that the pecking order had been re-established-for the time being, at least-Nathifa faced into the wind once more and gazed out into the darkness with eyes of flickering crimson flame.

The dark shape of Demothi Island hove into view. Cold, desolate, barren, and rocky, it was a place of death and evil, though not entirely uninhabited. The island claimed one resident, and it was he whom they had come to collect.

They sailed toward the island's western side, and Nathifa noted the wreckage of a ship just off shore. The vessel had been reduced little more than splintered planks now, thanks to the constant pounding of the waves, and within a few more days, perhaps a week at most, there would be no sign left that the craft had ever existed.

"Have you been here before?"

Nathifa hadn't been aware of Makala's approach. She turned to face the vampire, ancient neck bones grinding and cracking.

"I have never set foot on the island, but I did see it once before, many years ago. When I was mortal." Though she had been undead far longer than she had drawn breath, Nathifa's memories of her previous life were as clear and sharp as ever.

"My brothers and I sailed past Demothi when we first discovered the gulf. I wanted to investigate, but both Kolbyr and Perhata convinced me that we should avoid it. Even from a distance, we could sense the evil emanating from the place." She smiled. "Of course, that was part of what intrigued me, but I deferred to my brothers."

Perhata and Kolbyr… the mortal bodies of her brothers were long dead, but their memories lived within her still. Memories of love, adventure, and conquest, but most of all of betrayal. Kolbyr's betrayal. After all these years, after everything Nathifa had sacrificed, she was close to finally achieving her revenge against her hated brother.

You killed my husband, Kolbyr, killed my son… all because you were too selfish to allow my child-your nephew-to become the heir you couldn't produce. Everything we built… everything you took from me… soon it will lie in ruins, and your name will become a curse upon the lips of all who inhabit the Principalities, until at last your name fades from all memory… even one as long as mine.

With a start, Nathifa became aware of Makala looking at her with a bemused expression. She feared Makala might take her momentary lapse as a sign of weakness, so to cover she said, "Tell Skarm to take us in."

Makala nodded, glanced down at the soarwood railing, and smirked before she turned and walked back to the barghest. Nathifa looked down to see what had amused the vampire so and saw that, in her anger, she'd gripped the railing so hard that her talon-fingers had dug deep furrows into the wood.

A loss of control. Another sign of weakness. One that she could ill afford with Makala and her evil spirit about.

Lady, guide me, she prayed.

Hollow laughter came in reply, but Nathifa told herself it was simply an auditory illusion caused by the howling wind and the pounding surf, nothing more.

At the stern of the Zephyr, Skarm grunted as he lifted the vessel's anchor. In his present form he possessed no more strength than an ordinary goblin, but this was the best shape for him to use when he needed to perform manual labor-which, as Nathifa's servant, he had to do more often than he liked. In wolf shape, he had no hands, and while as a true barghest, he did have opposable thumbs, his spine wasn't designed for standing upright. The anchor felt as if it weighed a ton or more, and sharp pain shot through his lower back as he tossed it over the aft railing, rope playing out behind. His muscles quivered, weak as jelly, and despite the thick fur cloak that he wore-made of wolfskin, of course-he couldn't stop shivering. Commanding the Zephyr's wind elemental had taken a great deal out of him, and though the vampire's blood, as bitter and foul-tasting as it was, had restored a certain measure of his strength, it hadn't been nearly enough. He would've liked nothing better than to crawl into the sloop's small cabin, curl up on a pallet and sleep for a decade or two. But not only wouldn't Nathifa permit him a moment's rest, she'd punish him severely for so much as asking. He had no choice but to keep going and hope he didn't drop from exhaustion, for if he did, Nathifa would most likely slay him and simply transfer his duties to her new servant.

Not for the first time, Skarm thought back to his life before he'd become the lich's slave-roaming free among the Hoarfrost Mountains, preying on unwary hunters and travelers, devouring sweet flesh and guzzling hot blood. But then one day he'd felt drawn to a series of caves located in the foothills just beyond the mountains. He'd tried to resist the pull, but he could not. He had no choice but to enter, and once he'd made his way through the tunnels to the cave system's main chamber, he discovered Nathifa waiting for him. Ever since that moment, Skarm had been the lich's slave, and he knew he would remain so until the day he died. He supposed there were worse lives for a barghest to lead, but offhand he couldn't think of any.

He tied the anchor rope to a metal cleat bolted to the railing, then turned to inform his mistress that she could disembark. But before he could speak Nathifa, who stood at the Zephyr's stern as she had since they'd sailed from Perhata, bowed her head. Her cloak of living darkness seemed to swallow her, and an instant later her form broke apart into dozens of smaller shadow-fragments that resembled rats. The night-black vermin surged toward the railing and scuttled over the side.

Makala, who'd been standing next to Nathifa, glanced back over her shoulder and gave Skarm a grin. Then her form darkened, blurred, and reshaped itself into a large bat. Wind filled the vampire's leathery wings and bore her skyward.

Those two aren't the only ones who can play at shape-shifting, Skarm thought.

He ran to the stern, leather boots thumping on the wooden deck. Just as he reached the railing, his boots became padded lupine feet as his goblin body reworked itself into the form of a wolf. He leaped into the air with bestial grace and soared up and over the railing.

Beware, Demothi Island! Skarm thought as he descended. The mighty barghest has come!

Then he landed in the frigid roiling surf just offshore and howled in shock at the sensation of a thousand ice needles piercing his hide. He scrambled out of the water and onto the rocky shore, whining like a wounded pup, and lost no time in vigorously shaking his coat dry. Or at least as dry as it could get, considering that half-frozen rain pelted the island.

I hate winter in the Principalites, Skarm thought. And the worst of it was, this was only autumn.

Nathifa and Makala stood on the shore, both having resumed their humanlike shapes. The lich shot Skarm a crimson-flecked gaze of irritation before turning and proceeding inland. She moved with an eerie gliding motion, as if she were floating above the ground instead of walking on its surface. Maybe she was floating, Skarm thought. After all, he'd never actually seen her legs and wasn't entirely certain she had any. Makala followed behind Nathifa, walking mortal-fashion, but moving with the serpent-like ease common to vampire-kind.

Skarm intended to shift into his barghest form then, for it was hardier than both his goblin and wolf shapes and thus better able to withstand the cold. But then his lupine nose detected a scent-a wonderfully rank odor of putrefaction that set his mouth to watering. Cold forgotten, Skarm padded toward the source of the tantalizing smell, a viscous mound of slime heaped onto the dark shore nearby. He lowered his snout to the ooze and drank in its deliciously foul stench. He judged the slime to be liquefied dead flesh-long dead, at that-and though barghests weren't by nature carrion eaters, Makala's blood had only done so much to restore his strength, and Skarm was still hungry… hungry enough to make even this muck seem like a fine banquet to him.

Skarm opened his mouth and extended his tongue, prepared to lap up the foul stuff when another scent drifted into his nostrils-the scent of living meat. Human meat. Skarm was always Skarm no matter his shape, but his thoughts were affected by the form he wore at any given time. As a barghest, he was cunning and cruel, as a goblin timid and scheming, and as a wolf a creature of appetite and instinct. Both of these latter qualities now combined into a single overpowering urge that told Skarm he must feed-now.

Skarm bounded off, nose to the ground, tracking this new scent. Others had been here not long ago, he knew-human, half-orc, elf, halfling-for their scents still clung to the rocks, but one scent, a human male's, was strong and fresh. Whoever the man was, he was still on the island and soon he'd be filling Skarm's belly. Skarm ran a zig-zag trail across the small island, heart pounding in excitement, air chuffing in and out of his nostrils as he searched for his prey. He heard voices yelling his name-both female-but he ignored them. Nothing mattered except filling the vast empty pit that lay at the core of his being.

Skarm found the man huddled behind a large outcropping of gray rock. He was blonde, bearded, broad-shouldered, and though half-frozen and trembling like a leaf caught in gale-force wind, the fact that he had survived exposure to the harsh elements on the island was testament to his great strength. This one would make a fine meal, indeed!

The man staggered to a standing position and brandished a knife as Skarm approached. He wore leather armor beneath a thick, red waterproof cloak, hood up as protection against the rain. Skarm's lupine vision was able to make out a tattoo of a stylized blue skull on the man's forehead. The image was meaningless to Skarm's wolf-mind, and he forgot it as soon as he saw it. The man's knife was a small, pitiful weapon, and his hand trembled so badly that Skarm doubted he would be able to do any serious damage with the blade. Not that it mattered if he did, for Skarm could heal with supernatural swiftness. But even if he had no special healing abilities, his hunger would still have driven him to attack, regardless of the risk of injury to himself.

Skarm ran at the man and leaped for his throat, already tasting the blood that would soon gush hot and sweet on his tongue.

But a strong hand grabbed hold of him by the scruff of the neck, stopping his attack in mid-leap. Skarm whipped his head around, growling and snapping at whoever dared to come between him and his prey.

"Easy, boy," Makala said, grinning, incisors longer and sharper than usual. "Nathifa would like a word with this gentleman before you tear out his throat."

Skarm writhed in Makala's grip, trying to twist free, but the vampire held him above the ground in a grip like iron, and there was nothing he could do.

Then Nathifa came gliding forward, the tendrils of her dark cloak probing the ground as she advanced like the feelers of a gigantic black insect. Her crimson-flame eyes burned with excitement as she regarded the bearded man, and her smile was a terrible thing to behold.

"Well, now. Who we do have here?"

Haaken tried to put up a brave front, but he'd been marooned on Demothi Island for several days now-ever since the Maelstrom, the vessel he'd commanded, had run aground on this cursed shore-and he was half-dead from exposure. But even if he were at full fighting strength, still he would've quailed before the creature that glided toward him now. The wolf didn't frighten him overmuch, nor did the vampire. The wolf was a simple beast, and while the vampire was a formidable enough foe, they'd met in battle before and he'd managed to get the best of her then. But this… this thing coming toward him-bone-white flesh, fire-pit eyes, shadowy cloak that seemed somehow alive-exuded an aura of such malevolence that, if Haaken had had any fresh water to drink over the last few days, he would've lost control of his bladder.

"His name is Haaken Sprull," the vampire said. She continued to hold onto the snarling wolf, the animal showing no signs of calming down. "He is-or rather, was-the commander of the Coldhearts, the supposedly elite warriors who served Baroness Calida of Kolbyr. He made the mistake of kidnapping some former friends of mine, and he lost both his crew and his ship as a result. Quite frankly, I'm surprised the fool is still alive."

The white-faced thing glided closer to Haaken and scowled as she examined him. He wanted more than anything to run, to put as much distance as possible between himself and this horrible apparition, but he was too transfixed with terror to move. Besides, Demothi Island was so small, there wasn't anywhere to run.

"Kolbyr, eh?" The words were carried on breath redolent of dust and ancient bone. She regarded him a moment longer before letting out a brittle laugh and clapping her skeletal hands together in glee. "My mistress displays an unexpected sense of whimsy this night! How delightfully appropriate that she would send a servant of Kolbyr to now serve me!"

Haaken had no idea what the witch was talking about, and he didn't want to know. Better to die like a man than serve a creature like her! Though it took every bit of inner strength remaining to him, Haaken tore his gaze away from the witch's burning red eyes, turned, and ran. He staggered toward the sea, boots slipping on ice-coated rocks, so weak that he was barely able to keep his footing, but he continued on, knowing that if he fell it would be all over, and he would belong body and soul to the shadow-draped witch with the red-coal eyes. As he ran, he heard the vampire speak.

"Should I let Skarm go after him?"

The wolf yipped with excitement, as if it understood what she'd said.

"No need," the witch said. "He can't escape."

The witch spoke these words with such calm assurance that Haaken almost gave up in despair and stopped running. But then he heard the sound of waves breaking against the rocky shore, smelled the tang of saltwater, felt sea-spray wet his face, and his heart soared. Haaken was a Lhazaarite born and bred, and he'd spent more hours plying the sea than he had treading upon land. As a son of the Lhazaar, he couldn't imagine dying anywhere else but in its cold embrace. The sea had sustained him in life; now it would be his deliverance in death.

His boots splashed in the foamy surf, and he laughed with relief. He'd made it! All he had to do now was dive into the water and let the Lhazaar have him. As cold as the sea was this time of year, and as weak as Haaken was, it wouldn't take long for him to die. A matter of minutes at most. It would be just like going to sleep, Haaken told himself. Peaceful, soothing…

Gathering what little strength he had left, Haaken crouched and prepared to dive into the welcoming waters of the Lhazaar and claim his deliverance.

But before he could enter the water, a large dark shape surged forth from the waves and slammed into him. The breath was forced from Haaken's lungs as he was driven backward toward shore. He reflexively grabbed hold of the creature that had attacked him. His hands clasped rough hide covered with barnacles, and he stared into a gaping maw ringed by triangular teeth-several rows of them-sharp and serrated. Shreds of ragged flesh were stuck between the beast's teeth, and its breath stank of rotting meat. Haaken saw an eye on the side of the creature's head, large as a dinner plate and black and cold as the bottom of the sea itself. Though the eye was inhuman, Haaken nevertheless had the impression that it glared at him with baleful intelligence.

At that moment the thought of death lost all appeal for Haaken.

In his terror to flee the white-faced witch, Haaken had unthinkingly held on to his knife. Suddenly realizing he still gripped the blade, the former commander of the Coldhearts decided to make good use of it. He rammed the knife into the beast's tough hide once, twice, three times.

But though foul black blood spurted with each strike, the wounds closed almost immediately, giving Haaken further confirmation-as if he needed it-that he was dealing with an unnatural creature.

The monster-a shark, but one far larger than any he'd ever seen-bore him up onto the shore, scraping Haaken's back bloody on the rough rocks. Haaken started to cry out in pain, but then he realized that he was holding onto the shark's snout with his arms; his legs were inside the beast's mouth. Haaken screamed in terror, but then the shark bit down, and Haaken's scream became one of agony.

The smell of fresh blood came close to driving Skarm insane. He howled and thrashed in Makala's grip, desperate to free himself so that he might steal a portion of the great shark's feast. At last, his wolf-mind understood that there was no way he could get away from the vampire in his present shape, and so he handed over the reins to the barghest persona. It was stronger than the wolf, and it would find a way to-

Nathifa stepped in front of Skarm just as his form started to shift. "Enough," she said calmly and backhanded him. Despite her withered, skeletal frame, the lich possessed incredible strength, and the blow was swift and strong enough to take the head off a mortal being. As Skarm was now nearly in barghest form, the strike merely cracked his skull in several places. It did, however, settle him right down.

Nathifa leaned close to Skarm's face so that her crimson eyes nearly touched his. "The human is mine, not yours. You cannot have him."

Skarm could feel Nathifa's power boring into his mind, and he knew that no matter how great his hunger became after this moment, he would have no choice but to obey her command. Slowly, he nodded.

Nathifa stepped back. "Release him, Makala."

The vampire let go of the barghest and Skarm dropped to the ground. He wanted to look in Haaken's direction to see if the shark had left anything for him, but he didn't want to risk Nathifa's anger again, so he kept his gaze trained on her.

"Makala, Skarm, I want both of you to go to the center of the island. There you will find a stone statue of a man rising forth from the rock, as if it had grown out of the earth itself. You are to carefully break the statue free from the surrounding ground without damaging it in any way, then carry it back to the Zephyr and stow it aboard. Do you understand?"

"Of course," Makala said. "I was present when Diran and Ghaji nullified the statue's power. They left a silver dagger embedded in its chest. Should we attempt to remove it?" From the tone of Makala's voice, she didn't relish the idea.

Skarm didn't blame the woman. While silver had no particular ill effects on barghests, it was poison to a vampire. And this was no ordinary silver dagger; it had been wielded by a priest of the Silver Flame, one that Skarm had encountered before. Perhaps the priest had put some sort of blessing on the blade that would cause it to be harmful to any creature, undead or not.

Nathifa considered Makala's question for a moment. "Don't bother with the dagger. We can always remove it later, and if it currently is keeping the statue's power in check, it'll make it that much easier for us to transport." She smiled. "Like a cork contains the contents of a bottle and prevents them from spilling. Just be careful not to touch the damned thing."

Makala nodded. "One more thing. I know you told Skarm that Haaken is yours, but if you're just going to let the man bleed to death anyway…" She trailed off, her point made. She was a vampire, and she wanted Haaken's blood as badly as Skarm wanted his flesh and soul.

Skarm couldn't help it; he turned to look toward Haaken's body. The great shark was gone, the creature having presumably returned to the dark sea depths that had spawned it. Haaken lay motionless at the edge of the shore, both of his legs gone beneath from mid-thigh down. Even in his barghest form, Skarm could smell the blood flowing from the ragged stumps where the man's legs had been attached only moments before. His stomach gurgled, and he prayed that Nathifa wouldn't punish him for it.

"You can both forget about making a meal of Haaken," Nathifa said. "Though our toothsome friend has finished his work, the man's not going to die." The lich's dry lips drew away from her yellow teeth in a hideous mockery of a smile. "I have plans for him."