Thieves of Blood

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Tresslar?” Diran asked.

The man was middle-aged and thin, almost painfully so, with shoulder-length white hair and a close-cropped beard. He wore a gray tunic with a black belt and sandals, the standard uniform for prison staff who didn’t serve as guards. He was kneeling before a cell door, running his hands across the bars and frowning in concentration. A dwarf guard stood next to him, holding onto a crossbow that was cocked and ready. Inside the cell, a tall broad-shouldered man with black hair and sky-blue eyes sat cross-legged on a sleeping pallet, glaring at the older man as he went about his work. The prisoner wore a tunic that was so white it nearly glowed. All the prisoners in Dread-hold wore the same uniform, the bright color making it both easier to spot inmates and far more difficult for them to hide.

The older man didn’t respond to Diran’s question. He continued moving his hands over the bars and softly muttered to himself.

The guard that the warden has assigned to escort Diran and Ghaji during their stay in Dreadhold cleared his throat. “Tresslar, you’ve got visitors,” the dwarf rumbled.

Still the man didn’t look up.

“Tresslar…” the guard repeated.

“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time,” the older man snapped, “but visitors or not, I’m in the middle of examining the ward-spell on these bars, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disrupt my concentration any more than you already have.”

“If you possessed more than a modicum of skill, Tresslar, you wouldn’t be bothered so much by distractions,” the prisoner taunted.

“Shut up, Jurus,” Tresslar said through gritted teeth. “If brains were dragonshards, you wouldn’t have enough to power an elemental nail trimmer.”

The cell was standard size for Dreadhold, nine by five feet, with a sleeping pallet, a wash basin sitting on a small wooden table, and a chamber pot. Not exactly the most ostentatious of accommodations, Ghaji thought, but it was better than being executed, though perhaps not by much.

“Tresslar, these two have come all the way from Morgrave University to talk with you,” Diran and Ghaji’s guard said. “Why they’d bother I don’t know, but they have, and the warden wishes you to speak to them. Now.”

Tresslar continued working for a moment before finally sighing and removing his hands from the bars. “As usual, when Gizur wants something done, he wants it done yesterday.” The artificer stood, interlaced his fingers, and loudly cracked his knuckles. “Very well, then.” He turned to the dwarf holding the loaded crossbow. “I’ll return as soon as I can. If Jurus so much as takes a step off his pallet, skewer him.”

“You don’t need to tell me my job, artificer,” the dwarf said, his gaze fixed on the prisoner.

“Just do what I say. Jurus, despite all his posturing, is a skilled artificer in his own right. We can’t afford to give him the chance to neutralize the wardspells on his cell.”

Without waiting for the guard to acknowledge his warning, Tresslar turned toward Diran and Ghaji. “Come with me, you two.” He glanced at their escort. “I see only one guard has been assigned to you. Gizur must not consider you much of a threat if he only ordered the one guard to keep watch over you.”

“Well, we are only scholars,” Diran said.

Tresslar looked them up and down, truly seeing them for the first time. “Scholars, eh?” He then turned and started walking down the corridor at a brisk pace. After a moment’s hesitation, Diran and Ghaji hurried after him. However, the guard assigned to them by the warden walked off in a different direction. Ghaji figured that now that they’d found Tresslar, there was no need for them to have a personal escort, not when the cellhouse was crawling with dwarf guards, all of whom were no doubt keeping sharp eyes on their visitors.

After gaining entrance to the cellhouse and being taken to see the day sergeant, Diran and Ghaji had been permitted to speak to Warden Gizur himself. The dwarf recognized not only the seal of Morgrave’s chancellor but also his handwriting. Gizur granted them permission for a two hour stay at Dreadhold, after which the scholars were expected to promptly depart the island, and the warden had made certain to emphasize the word promptly. The time limit shouldn’t prove to be a problem, Ghaji had thought at the time. After all, how long would it take to ferret out the location of Erdis Cai’s location from Tresslar?

As it turned out, quite long.

Tresslar may have agreed to speak with his two visitors, but that didn’t mean he intended to make it easy on them. He never once stopped working. He hurried down one corridor or another, checking bars, examining locks, running his fingers over the stone blocks of walls and floors, forcing Diran and Ghaji to keep up with him. Ghaji would have preferred to grab the front of the artificer’s tunic, lift him into the air, and shake the location of Erdis Cai out of him, but the corridors of Dreadhold were continuously patrolled by dwarf guards who would no doubt take a very dim view of such an action.

As they scurried throughout the prison, Ghaji got a good look at the inside of Dreadhold. The prison had been designed for security and efficiency, not beauty. Gray stone walls, black iron bars, all straight lines and right angles. Everbright lanterns lit the prison, but no amount of light could lend warmth to these cold and forbidding stone corridors. The prison was solid, sturdy, grim, and implacable, just like the dwarves of House Kundarak who’d built it.

While the inmates of Dreadhold represented every race on Khorvaire, including some warforged, the prison staff was primarily made up of dwarves. Tresslar was one of the few non-dwarf staff members they’d seen, and from Tresslar’s constant complaining, this was something of a sore point with him.

“This is what my life is like here, day after day, year after year. The artificers of House Kundarak think they’re the finest in the world, just because their house carries the Mark of Warding.

They are skilled and powerful, I’ll grant them that, but they lack subtlety, a feeling for the more delicate ways that spells function, as well as how they can be disrupted. Dreadhold contains the highest percentage of mystically abled prisoners in Khorvaire, like that braggart Jurus you saw me putting up with earlier. They’re constantly testing the wardspells on the cells, trying to lift them or at least alter them enough so that they can escape. That means I constantly have to run around this gigantic stone tomb all day and double-check the dwarf artificers’ work. I can’t tell you how many escapes I’ve prevented over the years, but am I recognized for my contributions? No, I am not! I’m not a dwarf; I’m not a member of House Kundarak! Go back to Morgrave University and tell them that, why don’t you?”

Tresslar was ranting through his third variation of this screed when Diran finally interrupted.

“It’s obvious that you’re an exceptionally busy man, Master Tresslar, so let me tell you the purpose for our visit. My colleague and I are doing research on the life of the explorer Erdis Cai.”

Tresslar didn’t move, and for the first time since they’d met the man, he didn’t say anything. The old man’s shoulders sagged in what seemed like defeat, but when he turned to face them he was perfectly composed.

“I don’t see how I can help you. I’m an artificer, not a folklorist. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really should get back to Jurus. While I enjoy making him sit on his pallet and wait for me, it’s unwise to push him too far.”

Tresslar started to walk past them.

“You are the artificer who sailed with Erdis Cai, aren’t you?” Diran said. “We have only one question to ask you: where is Erdis Cai’s home port?”

Tresslar stopped. His eyes went wide and he shook his head.

Diran stepped forward and gripped the man’s shoulders. “You must tell us! People’s lives are at stake, perhaps even their very souls!”

“Guards!” Tresslar shouted.

There was no need for the artificer to shout twice. A half dozen dwarves in Stonemeld armor came running toward them from all directions. Diran glared at Tresslar, but he released his hold of the man.

The artificer brushed the front of his tunic as if contact with Diran had somehow soiled it.

“What’s wrong, Tresslar?” one of the guards asked.

“These two gentlemen were granted permission by the warden to speak with me.” Tresslar fixed Diran and Ghaji with a steely gaze, but the half-orc detected more than a little fear in his eyes as well. “We’re finished.”

Ghaji was about to protest when Diran said, “We wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome.” He inclined his head to Tresslar. “You have our thanks for your time, Master Artificer. You’ve been most helpful.”

Diran smiled at Ghaji, narrowing his eyes slightly to indicate he wanted Ghaji to speak. Ghaji turned to Tresslar, drew his lips back from his teeth, and without opening his mouth, growled. “Most helpful, indeed.”

Tresslar’s face turned whiter than his beard at the site of Ghaji’s orcish teeth.

“Y-you’re welcome.”

Seaspray coated his greenish skin, and when the night wind blew cold across the island’s rocky shore, Ghaji felt as if he were covered with a thin layer of ice.

So this is the Principalities in summer, he thought. I really hope we’re not still here come winter.

Of course, if the four of them were caught sneaking onto Dreadhold without authorization, they might get the opportunity to experience many, many winters here.

After leaving earlier that afternoon, Yvka had circled the Zephyr back to the island, and by the time they’d dropped anchor offshore, full night had fallen. They’d been careful not to use the elemental close to the island, lest the night guards spot the glowing containment ring.

They kept low as they made their way across the barren black rock toward the stone building that served as the staff quarters. Diran and Ghaji were in the lead, with Yvka and Hinto following close behind. Ghaji had been reluctant to bring the halfling along, given his emotional instability, but Hinto refused to be left alone on the Zephyr-and more to the point, on the water in the dark. Their plan was as simple as it was foolhardy. Diran and Ghaji had scouted the basic layout of the island’s facilities earlier, and Yvka knew enough about Dreadhold to confirm the location of the staff’s quarters. Presumably, Tresslar lived here as, unfortunately, did the guards when off duty. The four companions intended to enter the staff building, find Tresslar’s room, and urge him-forcibly, if need be-to tell them the location of Erdis Cai’s home port. Diran had seemed to enjoy planning their nocturnal visit to Dreadhold. // reminds me of old times, he’d said. Ghaji hated it when Diran said things like that, but the priest’s experience and training as an assassin came in handy far too often for Ghaji to complain.

Ghaji felt almost sorry for the artificer. Diran had been growing increasingly impatient in the hours before their return to Dreadhold. He was so close to finding out where the Black Fleet had taken Makala, and Ghaji knew that his friend wasn’t going to be able to stand any more delays. One way or another, Tresslar was going to give them the information they needed.

The island’s black surface seemed to absorb moonlight rather than reflect it, and the ground was uneven enough that four more irregular shadowy shapes in the darkness should go unnoticed. There was a paved pathway from the main cellhouse to the staff quarters, but they approached the building from the side, though even this carried risk. Unlike the cellhouse, the building containing the staff quarters had windows. Luckily, only a few lights burned behind closed shutters even though it wasn’t all that late. Ghaji wasn’t surprised. Dreadhold didn’t exactly seem like the sort of place to support a thriving night life.

When they were within a dozen yards of the building, Diran approached while the others hung back. The priest moved silently and swiftly, comfortable in the shadows. He moved from window to window on the first floor, checking to see if any of the shutters were unlocked. After making a complete circuit of the building, he looked over to where the others waited crouched low to the ground and signaled for them to join him. They made little sound as they walked over to Diran, and what noise they did make was covered by the sound of the surf breaking on Dreadhold’s shore.

Ghaji gave Diran a questioning look, but the priest shook his head, indicating that he’d found no unlocked windows. They’d anticipated that. This was, after all, Dreadhold, and though an inmate escape was unlikely, keeping the windows barred at night was a sensible precaution, but what about the windows on the second floor? That’s where Yvka came in. She stepped up to the wall, removed her boots, then placed her fingertips in the almost invisible seams between the stone blocks. She then began climbing. The elf-woman moved with almost preternatural grace, fingers and toes finding purchase where there should be none.

Yvka headed for a darkened window first because that had the greater likelihood of being an empty room. When she reached the sill, she tried the shutters, but they must’ve been locked because she abandoned it and moved on to another. She tried two more darkened windows, avoiding a third that had a light burning inside, before she found one with the shutters unlocked and open. She cautiously peered inside, a risky move since there were no clouds to cut off the moonlight shining behind her. After several seconds, she hauled herself over the sill and climbed into the room. The companions on the ground tensed, waiting to hear the room’s startled occupant shout an alarm, but they heard nothing. A moment later, Yvka appeared at the window. She smiled, nodded, and held out her hand.

Ghaji tucked Yvka’s boots beneath his belt. He then removed the coil of rope that he carried around his shoulder and took the grappling hook from his pack. He quickly tied the rope onto the hook then stepped beneath Yvka and tossed it up to her. The elf-woman caught it on the first try then disappeared back into the room. Several moments later, she returned and motioned that they could begin climbing. Trusting that she had found a sturdy place to anchor the grappling hook, Diran began scaling the wall, moving with a speed and grace that, while perhaps not elven, still surpassed that of any other human Ghaji knew. Once Diran was inside the room, it was Hinto’s turn. Ghaji was supposed to keep watch while the others climbed, but he couldn’t help sneaking a glance at the halfling to make sure he didn’t begin panicking halfway up. Hinto made it without difficulty, and it was Ghaji’s turn. The half-orc was more than strong enough to manage the task, and once he was inside the room, he hauled in the rope so there would be no sign of their entrance to alert any patrolling guards.

The room had a low ceiling, which made sense since most of Dreadhold’s staff were dwarves, and Ghaji had to keep his head lowered if he didn’t want to bash it on the stone ceiling. Though it was dark in the room, there was enough moonlight filtering through the open window to reveal that these quarters weren’t all that much larger than the prison cells. A single dwarf-sized bed with a trunk sitting at its foot comprised the room’s entire contents. The bed, which Yvka had fastened the grappling hook to, was empty and recently made, the room’s occupant presumably on night duty.

Ghaji returned Yvka’s boots to her, and as the elf-woman slipped them on, he leaned close to Diran and whispered in his ear. “Now what? We can’t just go through the building, knocking on doors and asking if anyone knows where Tresslar’s room is.”

“We need to find someone to question,” Diran said.

There was a sudden soft click followed by the creak of metal. Ghaji drew his axe and Diran’s hands sprouted a pair of daggers.

“Hinto’s just picked the lock on the trunk and is having a looksee at the contents,” Yvka said.

“Hinto,” Diran said, “we’re here to find and question Tresslar, not to rifle through someone else’s possessions.”

“Who says we can’t do both?” The halfling sailor-and occasional pirate-swiftly rooted through the open chest, but he evidently found nothing of interest, for he soon closed the trunk lid.

“Put the money back, Hinto,” Diran said.

“What money? All that was in there were folded tunics and a pouch of smelly pipe tobacco.”

“And a coin purse,” Diran said, “which you palmed and stuck into the top of your left boot. I can fish it out with one of my daggers, if you like.”

Hinto sighed. He took the pouch from his boot and was about to put it back in the trunk when Yvka said, “Wait a moment.”

“You mean I can keep it?” Hinto asked, sounding like a delighted child.

“No.” Yvka reached out and took the pouch from him. “I think I just came up with a way to find Tresslar’s room.”

Yvka had been gone a while now, and Diran was becoming concerned. Her idea had merit, which was why he’d agreed to let her try it, but just because an idea was good didn’t mean it was flawless. Perhaps she’d been captured or delayed by some unforeseen circumstance. What if the room’s occupant came back while they waited? Diran didn’t know how often the staff of Dreadhold changed shifts, but each moment they remained here increased their chances of being discovered.

He could hear a voice whispering in his mind. Patience, my boy, patience, but Diran couldn’t tell if it was Emon’s voice or Tusya’s. Perhaps this time it was a blend of both.

Ghaji sat cross-legged on the floor, axe resting on his lap, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. Hinto had crawled into the bed, which was just the right size for him, stretched out, and from the sound of his deep heavy breathing, had dozed off. Diran tried to relax, but he couldn’t. He paced back and forth, hands empty but itching to reach into his cloak and draw forth a dagger or three, so he might juggle them to help pass the time. It would probably annoy Ghaji, and if Hinto awoke it could possibly frighten the halfling into letting out a screech and giving them all away, so he just kept pacing and tried not to think about how good a blade would feel in his hand right now.

Diran knew that he was letting his emotions get the better of him, but he couldn’t help it. It had been two days since the Black Fleet raiders had abducted Makala and the others from Port Verge, and there was every possibility she was already dead. Even if they did locate Tresslar’s room and convince him to tell them where Erdis Cai laired, it might be too late to save Makala. Whether Makala was alive or dead, Diran intended to make damn sure that Erdis Cai and the Black Fleet never preyed on innocents ever again.

There came a soft knocking at the door. Three short raps, three long. It was Yvka. Diran opened the door, and the elf-woman came in. She was wearing a gray tunic they’d found in the trunk and holding the money pouch in one hand.

Diran quickly shut the door behind her, turned, and said, “Well?”

“Mission accomplished. Tresslar’s room is on the first floor in the southwest corner.”

Though Yvka was petite, as was common for a female elf, the dwarven-sized tunic didn’t quite fit her. The result, a low neckline and a high hemline, looked most fetching, and despite the situation, Diran couldn’t help but think how attractive the woman was. He had to force his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

“Did you have any difficulty?” he asked.

“No, but it took me a while to encounter someone.” Instead of going around and knocking on doors, potentially waking the entire building, they’d opted to have Yvka simply “bump into” someone in the hall who was already awake. “I was on the first floor, near the entrance, when a gray-bearded dwarf came in. I said hello, and we made small-talk for several moments. He’s one of the cooks for the day shift, but he was working half the night to fill in for another cook who’s ill. I told him that I was looking for Tresslar because I had to pay him back some money he’d loaned me while we were playing cards a few days ago, but I didn’t know where his room was. He told me what I wanted to know, but he snickered the whole time. I think given the lateness of the hour, and seeing how I was dressed, the old lecher figured I was going to repay my debt to Tresslar in a somewhat different currency.”

Ghaji scowled at that but said nothing.

“As long as your ruse worked, that’s all that matters,” Diran said. “Do you think the cook was suspicious of you?”

Yvka shook her head. “I told him that I was new so he wouldn’t question why he hadn’t seen me before. Since most of the staff, including the guards, only serve temporary tours of duty here, I would imagine it’s not uncommon for staff members to encounter someone they’ve never met before.”

“Good,” Diran said. “Now all we have to do is go talk to Tresslar.” He started for the door, but Yvka stopped her.

“Let me change back into my own clothes first. This tunic isn’t exactly designed for battle. One wrong move, and the outfit will probably tear right in two.”

“Really?” Hinto said, sounding as if he’d like to see Yvka give a demonstration right then.

“Whatever you’re imagining, stop it,” Ghaji said gruffly. “Now let’s turn around and give the lady some privacy while she changes.”

Yvka smiled. “Why Ghaji, who’d ever have guessed you were such a gentleman?”

“Don’t call me names,” he growled, though he didn’t sound displeased by the compliment. The three males then turned their backs, and Yvka quickly took off the tunic and put her own clothes on once more.

When she was finished, Diran said, “Let’s go.”

The four companions left the room, closing the door behind them. They headed down a stone hallway, and then down a flight of stairs to the ground floor. Yvka led them to the southwest corner, and they stopped before what Diran hoped was Tresslar’s door. Diran knocked, and when there was no answer, he knocked harder. They waited several moments, and just as Diran was about to knock for a third time, a muffled voice came from the other side.

“Who is it?” Tresslar’s voice.

As an assassin, Diran had been trained to imitate voices, and though he was no genius at it, he was a passable mimic. He pitched his voice low, in a fair imitation of a dwarf’s. “Gizur wants to see you. He’s made an alarming discovery about those two visitors you had today.”

Tresslar didn’t respond right away, and Diran began to think they would have to force their way in and risk waking everyone up. Then came the sound of a lock being disengaged. The door swung open and Tresslar poked his head out.

“Who-” The artificer’s question died away as Diran pressed to the tip of a dagger to his throat.

“Step backward slowly,” Diran said, “and be careful not to stumble. You wouldn’t want my hand to slip.” Diran had no intention of hurting Tresslar, but he couldn’t afford to let the artificer cry out for help.

Tresslar nodded, his eyes nearly crossing as he tried to look down at the blade being held to his throat. He did as Diran commanded, taking slow steps backward into the room. Diran followed, keeping the point of the dagger pressed to the artificer’s neck, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough so that the man couldn’t forget it was there.

As they backed into the room, the others followed, and when they were all inside, Yvka closed and locked the door. Tresslar’s room, while no larger than the one upstairs, had a human-sized bed, a desk and chair, and a small bookcase filled with volumes. A lantern on top of the desk lit the room with a soft orange glow. A book lay open on the desk, and the chair was pulled back and sitting at an angle. It appeared Tresslar had been doing some reading.

Tresslar frowned when he saw Yvka and Hinto. “Let me guess. These are your apprentices.” The artificer’s joke was belied by the quaver of fear in his voice.

“As you’ve undoubtedly guessed by now, we aren’t scholars. I am Diran Bastiaan, priest of the Silver Flame, and the man carrying the axe is my companion, Ghaji. The others are Yvka and Hinto. We regret the necessity of invading your quarters like this, but we are on a rescue mission, and it’s vital that we discover where Erdis Cai makes his home port.”

Diran went on to give Tresslar a truncated version of the Black Fleet’s raid on Port Verge, along with their belief that Erdis Cai, now a vampire lord, was the one ultimately behind it. Diran kept the dagger against Tresslar’s throat the entire time he spoke, but when the priest was finished, he pulled the knife away and returned the blade to its sheath on his hip.

“Now that you know the truth,” Diran said, “will you help us?”

Tresslar stood there for a moment, moving his gaze back and forth between his four visitors. Finally, he walked over to the edge of his bed and sat down. He hunched over, hands clasped beneath his knees, and stared down at the floor.

“For forty years I’ve lived and worked on this island without once setting foot off it. I came here to hide… from him. I figured if there was anywhere in the world where I’d be safe, it would be within the walls of Dreadhold.” He looked up at them. “So the captain became a vampire, eh? And Onkar too. I’ve heard rumors about the Black Fleet, and I’d wondered if it might have some connection to Erdis. Now I know.”

“If you didn’t know what Cai had become, why did you feel the need to hide yourself from him?” Diran asked.

“I might not have known the captain’s exact fate, but I knew the last time I saw him that if he survived his final quest he would become a creature of evil. I feared he would come in search of me because the captain didn’t take kindly to deserters. Not at all.

“I was a young man when I joined the crew of the Seastar. I was already a skilled artificer, but I was a callow youth with much to learn about the ways of the world, and Erdis…” Tresslar shook his head but fondness came into his tone. “Erdis was like something out of a folktale. Larger than life. Confident, daring, brave. He was everything I wanted to be. Erdis took me under his wing, and I became like his younger brother. The adventures we had… let me tell you, I’ve read most of the accounts of our voyages that have been penned since, and none of them come close to the reality. My time on the Seastar was wondrous beyond belief.”

“What happened?” Ghaji asked. “How did someone like Erdis Cai become what he is now?”

“It was his appetite for adventure,” Tresslar said. “He’d done so much in his life that by the time he reached his forties, he’d become jaded. He began seeking out new and more dangerous challenges. He became rash and gambled with his life and the lives of his crew simply to stave off boredom for another day, but Erdis’ boredom wasn’t solely to blame. The Last War had been going on for nearly eighty years by that point, and while the Seastar never fought on behalf of any nation, we saw a fair bit of action. The senseless ravages of war began to wear on Erdis’ spirit, and he became disillusioned and filled with despair. No longer able to believe in the goodness of mortals or the presence of beneficent gods, he began searching for anything to believe in, and one day that search led him and the crew of the Seastar north to the frozen isle of Farlnen. Erdis had heard stories that a dark goddess lived there, and he was determined to find out if they were true.”

Diran knew what goddess Erdis Cai had found on Farlnen.

“Vol,” Diran whispered.

Tresslar nodded. “The closer we came to Farlnen, the more frightened I became. From some time I’d been concerned about the change that had come over Erdis, but whenever I tried to speak to him about it, he’d wave the matter aside. So many of the crew had perished during those last few months, and I began to fear this would be the final voyage for Erdis Cai and the Seastar. I decided I had to jump ship, but when I spoke to some of the other crew to see if they felt the same way, they hinted that I was talking mutiny. I rigged a longboat for myself, attached firestones to keep me warm, a lodestone compass, and bound a small water elemental to the stern for propulsion. Then one night I took some food and water, got in the boat, lowered it over the side, and watched the Seastar continue northward while I began slowly heading south. That was the last I saw of Erdis Cai.

“During the voyage back to the Principalities, I had time to think. I knew that if Erdis survived, he might come after me one day to punish me for deserting him, and that he might be… changed. I decided to come to Dreadhold and offer my services as an artificer. Luckily, the warden at the time took me on. I never told him or anyone else on Dreadhold about my time with Erdis. I honestly never expected to remain here for so long, but one year led to another, and now I’ve served on Dreadhold longer than anyone else. Forty years.”

Tresslar shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

Diran felt sorry for the man. What was it like to be so afraid of something that you would isolate yourself from the rest of the world-in effect, sentence yourself to exile-for four decades?

“Tell us where Erdis Cai is,” Diran said, “and I promise as a priest of the Silver Flame that I will slay him, and you will never again have to live in fear.”

Tresslar leaned back on his bed, palms on the mattress, arms held straight to prop himself up. He smiled in amusement. “While he was mortal, Erdis Cai was a legend. Now that he’s immortal, no one can stop him. If I tell you where he is-or at least, where I think he is-he’ll know who gave him away, and then he’ll seek me out for certain. That’s something I’d prefer to avoid, if it’s all the same to you.”

As Tresslar spoke, his left hand had inched closer to his pillow, and now he reached under it and pulled out a metal wand with a golden dragonhead on the tip. The dragon’s eyes were made from red rubies, and its teeth from glittering crystal.

“Now maybe you people are who you claim you are, and maybe you aren’t.” Tresslar’s gaze flicked back and forth between them, and a line of sweat beaded his forehead. “Either way, I can’t risk having Erdis find me, especially if he’s become-” Tresslar shuddered-“what you say he’s become. I’d prefer not to hurt any of you, but I will if I have to. If you’re sincere about rescuing those people from Erdis, then I wish you luck. I truly do. Now go, before you’re discovered. You don’t want to spend time with the master interrogators in the dungeons below Dreadhold, believe me, and that’s where they’ll take you if you’re captured.”

“We can’t leave,” Diran said, “not until we know where we can find Erdis Cai.”

He felt his frustration beginning to edge over into anger. Emon Gorsedd taught his students many ways to extract information from someone who was reluctant to talk. When Diran had made the decision to become a priest, he’d vowed never again to use such aspects of his training as an assassin, but he was sorely tempted to return to them now.

Ghaji took a step forward, hands raised to show he wasn’t holding any weapons. “Look, whatever that stick of yours does, why don’t you just put it down? We don’t want to hurt you, and you don’t want to hurt us, right?”

Ghaji took a second step forward, and Diran knew his friend was getting ready to make a grab for Tresslar’s wand, which Diran thought would be a terrible and quite possibly fatal mistake. Before Diran could intervene, Tresslar’s eyes widened in panic as he realized what Ghaji planned, and he aimed the dragonwand at the half-orc. Diran drew a dagger and threw it hilt-first at the artificer’s wrist. Tresslar managed to keep hold of the wand, but his hand was knocked to the side, spoiling his aim. A crackling bolt of miniature lightning blasted out of the dragon’s mouth, sizzled through the air past Ghaji, and struck the stone wall with a loud booming sound. The stone blackened where the lightning hit, and the room filled with the acrid smell of released ozone.

Diran knew he couldn’t give the artificer the chance to use his weapon again. The priest drew another dagger and hurled this one hilt-first toward the space between Tresslar’s eyes. The dagger hit, Tresslar let out a soft moan then fell back onto the bed, unconscious, but even though he was knocked out, the man still retained his grip on the dragonwand.

As Diran retrieved his two daggers, Ghaji said, “Thanks.”

Hinto had cringed when the lightning blast erupted, and now he lay on the floor, curled into a ball and shivering uncontrollably. Ghaji looked down at the terrified halfling and rolled his eyes. “Great. Now what do we do?”

“We take Tresslar and Hinto and get out of here before-” Diran was interrupted by a loud pounding on the door. “That happens.”

“Tresslar, what’s going on in there? Are you hurt? You’re not experimenting in your room again, are you?” Whoever it was tried to open the door but found it locked Diran motioned for Yvka to unlock and open the shutters covering Tresslar’s window, and the elf-woman nodded and hurried to do so.

“Of course I’m fine!” Diran called out, imitating Tresslar’s voice, and more importantly, his perpetually irritated tone. “Just had a little mishap is all. Nothing someone of your limited intellect would understand.”

As Diran talked, Ghaji bent down to pick up Hinto, but the moment the half-orc touched the shivering sailor, the halfling let out a shriek of terror. In response, something slammed hard into the door, and a splintered crack appeared in the middle of the wood.

“Over here, Ghaji!” Yvka shouted now that there was no longer any point in remaining silent. The shutters were open, and she held out her arms. Ghaji scooped up the shrieking halfling and tossed him to Yvka. Despite her slender frame, the elf-woman caught Hinto easily, then she turned, and still holding onto the halfling, did a forward flip through the open window.

Another impact struck the door, and the crack widened.

One more blow, and the door would surely fall. If it hadn’t been built on Dreadhold, it probably would’ve collapsed at the first strike, Diran thought.

“Get Tresslar outside!” Ghaji said, drawing his axe. “I’ll slow down whoever it is!” He took up a position to the right of the door and flattened himself against the wall.

There was no time for Diran to argue with his friend. He pulled Tresslar off the bed and began hauling the artificer over to the window, the man still holding tight to his dragonwand with a death-grip. Diran laid Tresslar on the windowsill, half in and half out of the room, but before he could do anything else, the door burst inward in two large pieces and a shower of splinters. A dwarf stepped into the room, dressed only in a breech cloth and carrying an axe wreathed in flame. The dwarf, whom Diran assumed was one of Tresslar’s neighbors, laid eyes on the priest.

“Who are-” was all the dwarf managed to get out before Ghaji swung the flat of his axe hard into his face. The dwarf stood there for a moment, smoke curling up around him from the charred remains of the door. Then he pitched forward, releasing his grip on the axe as he fell. The flames surrounding the weapon extinguished as both it and its bearer hit the stone floor.

There was shouting out in the hall now, and Diran knew their time had run out.

“Ghaji, move!”

Diran could no longer afford to be gentle with Tresslar. He shoved the man the rest of the way out the window and climbed through after him. Outside, Yvka and Hinto were nowhere to be seen. Diran guessed the elf-woman had already started back to the Zephyr, carrying the halfling with her.

Diran bent down and started to lift the still unconscious artificer, but then Ghaji leaped through the window and landed beside them. He took Tresslar and threw him over his shoulder as if the man weighed nothing. Then the priest and the half-orc started running toward the shoreline, heading for the spot where they’d left the Zephyr.

As they ran, Diran said, “I notice you’ve got two axes tucked into your belt now.”

“I figured that if we’re going to be walking into a nest of vampires soon, I could use a flaming weapon. Think Warden Gizur will mind that I borrowed it?”

Diran grinned.