Thieves of Blood

CHAPTER FOUR

Dozens of raiders were attacking men and women in the streets. Steel rang as swords struck sparks off one another, and screams of agony pierced the night as those who had no weapons or possessed little skill in their use fell to the ground.

The light cast by the moons revealed the raiders to be of similar aspect. They were human, most of them bald and cleanshaven, garbed in black leather armor and black boots. Each carried a long sword in one hand and a wooden cudgel in the other. Both males and females were represented in their ranks, though since the women were also bald, it was difficult to tell the genders apart.

Directly outside the tavern, a male raider crossed swords with Barkan, the red-bearded man Ghaji had arm-wrestled. Barkan was fast with a blade, but the raider was faster, and he carried two weapons. The raider slammed his cudgel into the side of the other man’s head, and Barken collapsed to the ground, unconscious or dead.

Diran’s hand blurred as he hurled a dagger at the raider. The blade struck the bald man in the throat and blood sprayed the air. The raider dropped his weapons and reached up with a trembling hand to remove the dagger. Before his fingers could reach the hilt, a horrible gurgling sound escaped his mouth, and he fell to his knees, swayed, then slumped over onto his side next to Barkan’s still form.

One corner of Diran’s mouth ticked upward in cold satisfaction. “It’s like Emon used to say: ‘You can always count on a well-honed blade.’”

A squad of raiders-three men and two women-had witnessed their companion’s death. They broke off what they were doing and came running toward Diran and others, clearly intending to avenge their fallen comrade.

Makala’s crossbow twanged and a bolt slammed into the left eye of one of the female raiders. Such was the force of the blow that the woman spun to the side and fell, dead before she hit the ground.

Four raiders were left.

Diran hurled another pair of daggers and two more raiders fell, leaving only two to press the attack. Unfortunately, they were too close for Diran to throw any more daggers or for Makala, who was still in the process of reloading her crossbow, to loose a bolt. That meant it was Ghaji’s turn.

The half-orc stepped forward and swung his axe at the nearest raider. The man blocked the blow with his cudgel, and flashing a sharp-toothed grin, he thrust his sword at Ghaji’s unprotected midsection. Ghaji twisted to the side to avoid the strike then swept his free hand, now curled into a fist, around in a vicious arc that connected with the jaw of the second surviving raider. The man’s head snapped back, the motion accompanied by the sound of breaking bone. The second raider went limp and collapsed to the ground, neck broken, head lolling at an unnatural angle.

Ghaji didn’t have time to savor his victory, for he had the final raider to deal with. The man still had Ghaji’s axe blocked with his cudgel, and he’d pulled back his sword in preparation for a second strike. The man’s cudgel terminated in a round ball, through it was slightly hooked toward the end. Ghaji tried to pull his weapon free, but the cudgel had caught hold of the axe head in its crook, and he couldn’t easily dislodge it Ghaji gritted his teeth and yanked his axe backward with all his strength. The raider was pulled off balance and was forced to relinquish his cudgel lest he lose his footing entirely. The raider still had hold of his sword, but without the cudgel, Ghaji was confident he could-

Before the half-orc warrior could make good use of his advantage, the raider bared his teeth and lunged. Ghaji didn’t have time to think. He slammed his forehead against the raider’s. The impact jarred Ghaji’s teeth to their roots, but it had a far more serious result for the raider. His jaws clacked together and his teeth sliced into his lower lip. Blood splashed over the man’s chin, and he let out a howl of pain.

Ghaji had earned another momentary advantage, and he wasn’t about to waste this one. He swung his axe toward the raider’s neck, and the man fell dead to the ground in two separate pieces.

Ghaji looked toward where Barken lay and saw Diran kneeling next to the man. Diran looked at Ghaji and shook his head. The man was beyond the priest’s power to heal. Ghaji gripped his axe so tightly his knuckles ached. Barken hadn’t exactly been his friend, but he vowed to kill as many raiders as he could tonight in the man’s name.

Another squad of raiders came at them, seven of them this time.

“My turn,” Yvka said. She stepped in front of the others and began juggling the wooden balls she carried. She started off in a slow circular pattern, but as she increased speed she shifted patterns. Soon the balls began to glow with a softly pulsing red light. The raiders stared at the crimson traces of light the balls made as Yvka manipulated them, almost as if the glowing light and ever-shifting patterns had hypnotized them. Ghaji found himself following the traceries of light the balls made. He had no desire to look away and wasn’t in fact sure that he could.

“Close your eyes,” Yvka said, then one by one she tossed the glowing red balls toward the assembled raiders in rapid succession.

As the balls moved away from them and closer to the raiders, Ghaji found the hypnotic pull of the glowing orbs lessening, and he was able to do as Yvka ordered. He closed his eyes just as the first of the balls exploded in a soundless burst of bright red light over the raiders’ heads. So intense was the light-burst that Ghaji saw the crimson flare through his closed eyelids, as well as the two other bursts that followed. He also heard the raiders cry out in pain and surprise, the sounds of their distress all too human despite their appearance.

Ghaji opened his eyes. Crimson afterimages danced in the air before him, but he could see well enough, which was more than the squad of raiders could say. They’d remained mesmerized and wide-eyed as the balls came toward them, thus they got the full dazzling effect of the triple light-burst. They stood hunched over, rubbing tear-filled eyes as they moaned and cursed. Most of the raiders had dropped their weapons when the light-bursts occurred, and swords and cudgels littered the alley floor around them.

“Attack!” Makala raised her crossbow to her shoulder and loosed a bolt at the raiders.

Ghaji didn’t need to be told twice. With a roar, he raised his axe, ran forward, and began fulfilling his silent promise to Barkan’s spirit.

Pandemonium ruled the streets of Port Verge. People ran screaming as raiders pursued them. Some got away, but many more were clouted on the head by a raider’s cudgel, picked up and carried away, unconscious. Officers of the City Watch fought raiders sword to sword, but though the watchers inflicted their share of wounds, they were no match for the savagery of the shaven-headed warriors. The city’s defenders fell, one after the other. Those offices who valued survival over duty broke off the battle and escaped the deadly kiss of the raiders’ steel, but most didn’t, earning a sword strike in the back for their cowardice. Not all the citizens of Port Verge fled or remained barricaded indoors though. Men and women of varying races took to the streets, weapons in hand, and fought to repel the gray-garbed raiders, but though many of these brave people were experienced fighters, they fared little better than the City Watch. The Black Fleet raiders were simply too numerous, too fierce, and too skilled. Of the Prince’s Diresharks there was as yet no sign. Perhaps they were on the water, attacking the galleons themselves, or, and Ghaji considered this most likely, word had yet to reach either Kolberkon or the commander of the Diresharks.

Ghaji, Diran, Makala, and Yvka continued fighting the raiders, and the half-orc lost track of how many they’d dispatched. The exact number didn’t matter. As long as even one raider survived, there was still work to do.

Ghaji saw several raiders gang up on a half-elf sailor armed only with a long knife. While the other raiders attacked the sailor, another hit the sailor on the head with a cudgel hard enough to stun him but not hard enough to kill. The raider then hoisted the unconscious victim onto his shoulder as his or her companions went off in search of fresh game. At first, Ghaji had no idea what was happening, then he heard the sound of iron-rimmed wheels on paving stones as a wooden cart rounded the corner. Two raiders pulled it-large, muscular men as well they needed to be, for the cart was laden with unconscious bodies.

“Demon-scales,” Ghaji swore. “They’re harvesting people!”

“So it would seem,” Diran said.

In unspoken agreement, the half-orc and the priest finished off the raiders they were fighting then sprinted toward the cart. Ghaji didn’t look back to see if Makala or Yvka followed. He knew they would.

As the raider carrying the half-elf dumped the unconscious man on top of the other victims, Diran and Ghaji arrived. A moment later, the raider had been felled by Ghaji’s axe. The two raiders pulling the cart reached for the swords sheathed at their sides, but a dagger from Diran and a bolt from Makala’s crossbow stopped them. The two men dropped to the ground, as dead as their companion.

“Makala and Ghaji, stand guard while Yvka and I see to the unfortunates in the cart.”

Makala frowned. “Diran, I don’t remember you being quite so…”

“Commanding?” Ghaji offered.

“Bossy.”

Diran smiled, and he and Yvka headed for the rear of the cart while Ghaji and Makala watched for raiders. The street was littered with bodies, many of them raiders dispatched by Diran and the others, but otherwise it was empty. The fighting had moved on to other sections of the city, but it hadn’t moved far. Ghaji could still hear ringing steel, defiant shouting, and agonized screaming.

Diran and Yvka began pulling the raiders’ unconscious victims out of the cart and laying them prone on the street. When only four more people remained in the cart, Diran said, “That’s enough. We can arrange the others so they’ll be comfortable enough where they’re at.” They did so then turned their attention to those on the ground.

Nine people altogether, Ghaji thought. He wondered just how many men and women the raiders would’ve crammed into the cart before deciding they finally had a full load.

Yvka began attempting to rouse a young woman barely out of her teenage years by patting her hands and cheeks, but the woman didn’t respond.

“Allow me,” Diran said. “Once her head injuries are healed, she should awaken without much difficulty.”

Yvka looked up at the priest with a frown, as if she wasn’t used to being ordered and didn’t particularly like it, but she moved away from the woman. Diran knelt. The priest placed his right hand on the girl’s chest directly over her heart then bowed his head and closed his eyes.

No matter how many times Ghaji had witnessed Diran perform a healing, he never ceased to be awed by it. Most of the time he thought of Diran as just a man, albeit an extraordinary one, but when Diran invoked the power of the Silver Flame to turn undead or perform a healing, Ghaji was reminded that his friend wasn’t merely some variant of magician. He was a conduit through which the holy force of Good could work its will in the physical word.

Diran’s hand glowed with a soft silvery light, but before the healing could be completed, a voice cut through the night air.

“Take your hand off the girl, priest. She’s our property now.”

Ghaji turned to see a man striding toward them down the street. He was dressed like a common sailor-white shirt, black pants, boots-and carried a cutlass tucked beneath his belt. He was of medium height, stoutly built, bald, with a black beard shot through with gray. He appeared to be in his late fifties, though he moved with the confidence and grace of a much younger man.

The glow that enveloped Diran’s hand winked out, and the priest stood to confront this newcomer.

“Who might you be?” Diran demanded.

The man’s eyes seemed to smolder with crimson fire.

“Onkar, commander of the Black Fleet, and you four are interfering with our business.”