Thieves of Blood

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I don’t suppose that one of your priestly abilities allows you to locate sailing vessels?”

Diran’s eyes were closed and his arms crossed over his chest, but Ghaji knew he wasn’t sleeping. Without opening his eyes, the priest replied, “I’m afraid not.”

The Zephyr was headed southeast, and the first light of the coming dawn pinked the horizon just above their port bow. The sloop glided swiftly across the calm surface of the sea, her soarwood runners barely kicking up any spray. Ghaji didn’t particularly care for sea travel, but this trip was so smooth he was actually beginning to find it boring.

“We need to do something,” Ghaji said. “We’ve been sailing for hours without any sign of the Black Fleet. It’s a big sea, Diran. I doubt we’ll just happen to bump into Onkar and his crew out here.”

“Of course you’re right,” Diran said, eyes still closed, “but then we won’t need to. Since we’ve left Port Verge, our mysterious benefactor has been heading on a steady course southeast into what, on the seacharts, at least, is open water, but I believe Yvka has a specific destination in mind.”

Ghaji turned to look back at the elf-woman. She sat in the same position as she had for hours, one hand on the tiller, the other resting in the depression on the arm of the pilot’s chair that allowed her to control the air elemental that powered the Zephyr.

“Is this true?” Ghaji asked. “Don’t bother lying to me. I’m tried and hungry, and the only thing meaner than a tired and hungry half-orc is a tired and hungry full-orc.”

“It’s true,” Yvka confirmed. “When we didn’t pick up the Black Fleet’s trail right away, I realized we’d need some help to locate them. I’m taking us to see a friend of mine who might be able to provide us with some useful information.”

“Thanks so much for letting us know when we first set sail.” Ghaji’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I’m not one to indulge in idle conversation,” Yvka said.

“Idle?” Ghaji growled. He reached for his axe as he started to stand, but Diran, still not opening his eyes, gently took hold of his friend’s wrist.

“Unless you know how to control an air elemental, I suggest you sit back down.”

Ghaji ground his teeth, but he removed his hand from his axe and did as his companion suggested.

“So we just sit here like good little boys and allow Yvka to take us wherever she feels like?”

“Unless you have a better suggestion.”

Ghaji glared over his shoulder at the enigmatic elf-woman, but she merely looked back, silent and unconcerned. He turned back to face the bow, folded his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes. “Wake me when we get there.”

“Ghaji, we’re here.”

The half-orc’s eyes snapped open, and he regretted it as they were stabbed by bright daylight. He half-closed his eyes again and squinted at Diran. The priest was shaking Ghaji’s shoulder and none too gently, either.

“Danger?” Ghaji asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“No. Nothing immediate, at least.”

Ghaji nodded and slowly opened his eyes all the way once more and took in their new surroundings. The blue sky was filled with puffy white clouds, and a cool breeze blew across the water. He and Diran were still aboard the Zephyr, though there was no sign of Yvka. The sloop had dropped anchor a few dozen yards from mound of black rock the size of a small island, perhaps one hundred yards across, one hundred twenty at the most. Other vessels surrounded the tiny island on all sides-one-masters, mostly, like the Zephyr, though there were a few two-masters and even one three-masted frigate. The craggy obsidian surface of the island was bereft of plants and animals, but it was hardly lifeless. A few dozen sailors crowded the tiny island, most standing about and talking, but some had set up small wooden tables and were loudly hawking one product or another. Gulls floated on the breeze, circling the island and keeping a sharp eye out for any morsels of dropped food they might be able to swoop down and snatch.

“Flying rats,” Ghaji muttered.

Many of the people on the island cast interest-filled glances at the Zephyr, while others gaped at it with undisguised avarice. Could be trouble, Ghaji thought. They’d have to keep a close eye on the elemental sloop as long as they remained anchored here.

Yvka stood in the midst of the crowd, talking to a gnome dressed in the white shirt, black pants, and head scarf of a common sailor. Yvka evidently asked the gnome a question, for he pointed toward the water, and she nodded. The elf-woman then turned away from the gnome and began picking her way through the crowd toward shore. When she reached the water’s edge, she dove in without hesitation and swam over to her sloop. She treaded water on the vessel’s starboard side as she spoke to them.

“My friend’s here, but he’s out fishing right now. We’ll have to wait a bit.” Without pausing for them to reply, Yvka turned and swam back to the obsidian island.

“Looks like we’re going to get wet, my friend.”

Diran took several daggers from their hidden pockets in his cloak and slipped them into his boots. He then removed his cloak, rolled it into a bundle, and stored it in the open compartment under his seat. He then sat on the port railing and allowed himself to fall backward into the water. Diran might have been taken from the Principalities as a child, but he still possessed a Lhazaarite’s grace in the water. He swam quickly and confidently to shore, barely disturbing the water as he went. As Diran climbed onto the island’s craggy surface, he glanced back at Ghaji and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Ghaji sighed. Best to get this over with.

He removed his breastplate and slid it beneath the seat next to Diran’s cloak. He then climbed up onto the railing and jumped off. As he hit the water, sudden shock ran through his body, for the slate gray sea was so cold here that it felt as if he’d plunged into the deepest depths of an arctic ocean. The splash he’d made upon entering the water was so loud and the spray so voluminous that everyone on the obsidian island turned to look. One wit shouted, “There she blows!” and laughter rippled through the crowd. Cold seeped into Ghaji’s bones as he swam for shore, and his limbs began to feel slow and heavy. He emerged from the frigid sea, swearing and shivering.

Both Diran and Yvka stood waiting for him, and the elf-woman gave him a look as Ghaji joined them, cold water dripping off him like freezing rain.

“Don’t say a word,” the half-orc snarled through chattering teeth.

“Not a peep,” Yvka said.

Neither Diran nor Yvka seemed affected by their time in the chill water, but then both were Lhazaarites and presumably used to the cold sea.

“If the water’s this bad in summer,” Ghaji said, “what’s it like in winter?”

“Deadly,” Diran answered without the slightest trace of humor. “Winter storms churn the sea, and the water is so cold that if one falls in unprotected and isn’t quickly rescued, death occurs within moments.”

“Delightful,” Ghaji muttered and tried not to shiver anew as a breeze wafted over his wet body. He noted a number of rowboats that had been pulled onto the shore around the small island, the craft no doubt having provided passage for those from the larger vessels anchored nearby. Not everyone was forced to swim to shore. Lucky bastards, Ghaji thought.

Waves lapped at the shore, and the black rocky ground was littered with bits of seaweed, shells, and the carcasses of small crabs.

“Depending on the tides and the season, the isle is sometimes submerged,” Yvka said, stepping over a dead eyeless fish. “Don’t worry, though. This time of year, the isle won’t be underwater again until nightfall.”

“What exactly is this place?” Diran asked Yvka.

“Nowhere,” the elf-woman replied.

“If you’re trying to make a joke,” Ghaji said, “it’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking. That’s what this place is called: Nowhere. As Diran guessed earlier, it appears on no chart, not because it’s unknown to mapmakers, but because the Lhazaar princes wish it that way.”

Diran frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“This small isle is neutral ground and has remained thus for centuries. Legend says that Lhazaar herself originally established it as a place to meet in secret with other princes, as well as to broker political and business deals with representatives of other powers. Anyone can come here to talk about anything without fear of discovery or reprisal.”

Ghaji looked around. “So all these people…”

“Aren’t here officially,” Yvka said. “At the moment there are representatives present from Princes Ryger and Mika, various Dragonmarked Houses, as well as a group of merfolk who are meeting beneath the waves.”

Diran looked impressed. “And no violence breaks out?”

“As I said, this is neutral ground and those who come here are dedicated to keeping it that way,” Yvka replied, “though, as with so much else in life, Nowhere isn’t perfect and the tradition of neutrality is sometimes breached. We must remain on our guard at all times.”

“Tell me,” Diran said, “among those currently present on the isle, are there any representatives of the Shadow Network?”

One corner of the elf-woman’s mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Perhaps.”

Ghaji looked at Yvka. “Since Diran and I first came to the Principalities, I’ve heard talk-mostly whispers spoken in the backrooms of taverns-about a secret organization of spies and assassins called the Shadow Network. I’d thought the stories nothing more than lies told to pass the time and impress outlanders.”

Diran didn’t take his gaze off Yvka as he replied to his friend. “Perhaps because that’s what the Network prefers people to think.”

Yvka’s mouth stretched into a full smile but she didn’t comment otherwise.

Their mysterious elf friend had just become even more mysterious, Ghaji thought.

“Who have you brought us here to meet?” Diran asked.

Yvka was about to answer when there was a loud splashing just offshore.

“Him,” the elf-woman said, pointing.

Diran and Ghaji turned toward the commotion and saw a large gray figure emerge from the water and come trudging toward shore. The cause of the commotion was readily apparent. The gray figure had hold of a shark’s tail and was dragging the thrashing beast behind him.

“Shark,” Diran said. “Twelve, maybe fourteen feet long.”

The being that dragged the very unhappy shark behind him was warforged, an artificial construct created to fight in the Last War and imbued with intelligence and sentience. Like all warforged it was constructed from a composite of materials: iron, stone, silver, obsidian, and darkwood. It had three-fingered hands and two-toed feet, and its face possessed glowing green eyes and a hinged jaw to form a mouth. In addition, this particular warforged was larger and bulkier than most and had obviously been built for strength. Crusty growths dotted the surface of its body, and Ghaji realized they were barnacles. Evidently this construct spent a significant amount of its time underwater. The warforged had to have some sort of protection against the corrosive effects of sea-water, and Ghaji wondered if the creature had been adapted for underwater maneuvers by some artificer during the Last War. Ghaji had fought alongside and against numerous warforged during his years as a soldier, and he’d seen many built for specific tasks, but he’d never seen one like this. As big and strong as this warforged looked, Ghaji had no trouble imagining it striding across the sea bottom and ramming a fist into the hull of a ship to sink it.

The construct stepped onto shore and continued onto the island, dragging the writhing shark behind him.

The people gathered on the island, whether to barter, argue, persuade, threaten or simply exchange information, broke off their separate conversations and turned to watch as the warforged dragged the shark into their midst. They wisely backed away to give the thrashing shark plenty of room, for the creature’s jaws snapped open and closed continuously, as if it didn’t want to miss a chance to sink its teeth into whatever target might present itself. When the warforged reached the center of the small island, he released his hold on the shark’s tail. The fish flopped about on the rocky black surface of Nowhere and with lightning speed twisted around and fastened its jaws on the warforged’s left leg.

The construct displayed no sign of pain or distress as he bent down and slammed his fist hard onto the shark’s head. The beast quivered from nose to tail but didn’t release its hold on the warforged’s leg. The construct hit the shark two more times before the creature finally ceased moving. The warforged then pried the fish’s jaws from his leg and stepped free of the animal’s mouth. Several triangular teeth were embedded in the wooden portions of the warforged’s leg, primarily in his ankle and calf, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“This shark was disturbing the merfolk down below, so I thought I’d bring it on up and see if anyone would like it. I’d rather not throw it back since it’s likely to just draw more scavengers now that it’s dead.”

The warforged spoke in the measure emotionless tones common to its kind, with a hollow metallic quality to them, similar to what a flesh and blood being might sound like speaking through an armored helmet.

A male shifter wearing only a pair of deerskin pants stepped forward.

“I’ll take it,” he said in a guttural voice. “Our cook knows how to do up a shark right.”

Ghaji looked to Diran to gauge his friend’s reaction to the shifter. Shifters were descendants of humans and lycanthropes, and while they couldn’t transform into true animals, they could assume a more bestial aspect that granted them greater strength and speed when they wished. The priests of the Silver Flame had long ago hunted pure lycanthropes to the point of near extinction, and the Church’s current position, at least as far as Ghaji understood it, was that shifters were not true lycanthropes and thus not intrinsically evil. Even so, some of the more radical priests of the Silver Flame were still suspicious of shifters, if they didn’t outright despise them. Diran had never evidenced any prejudice toward shifters since Ghaji had known him, but then again, he didn’t seem overly fond of them either. Aside from a slight pursing of his lips, Diran showed no reaction to the shifter’s presence.

The warforged nodded to the shifter and picked up the dead shark as if it weighed nothing, though Ghaji guessed the beast must weigh a thousand pounds or more. The construct followed the shifter over to one of the rowboats resting at the shore’s edge. The shifter pushed the boat back into the water and the warforged waded into the surf alongside it, still holding onto the shark. The shifter tied a rope around the tiger shark’s tail and then the warforged placed the dead fish in the water. The shifter began rowing toward one of the two-masted vessels anchored offshore, towing the shark behind him. As the shifter rowed past the Zephyr, he gave the elemental sloop an appreciative, and Ghaji thought somewhat covetous, look. The shifter continued past the Zephyr, rowing with swift, strong strokes, no doubt wishing to get the shark to his vessel before any other hungry sea creatures were attracted by its corpse.

The warforged turned and headed back to shore, and Yvka stepped forward to greet him.

Warforged had no facial muscles with which to express their feelings, but the constructs voice contained hints of both surprise and pleasure as he said, “My friend! What are you doing here?”

The elf-woman stepped up to the warforged and reached up to put her hand on his shoulders in greeting. The warforged made no move to touch her, which Ghaji thought wise. The construct might well crush the slender elf-woman if he tried to embrace her.

“I got tired of trying to find work in Port Verge, so I thought I’d try Skairn, and if that doesn’t work out, maybe Tantamar. I tell you, Flotsam, it’s getting damned difficult for a juggler to find honest work these days.”

“Indeed,” Flotsam replied. He lowered his voice before continuing. “Your employment situation must be most dire for you to risk bringing the Zephyr out into the open.”

“It is,” Yvka said. “I thought I’d stop here along the way on the off-chance you’d be about. I’m glad I did.”

“As am I.” Flotsam turned his head to look at Diran and Ghaji. “I saw you standing next to those two a moment ago. Friends of yours?”

Ghaji detected a deeper question beneath the warforged’s words, and he sensed that if Yvka said no, Diran and he would be in big trouble.

“They are.” She led Flotsam over to Diran and Ghaji. “These two gentleman were in need of passage, and I was happy to give them a ride.” She smiled. “For a fee, of course.”

“Naturally,” the warforged said.

Ghaji frowned. Yvka had made no mention of a fee before this.

“I am pleased to meet you, Flotsam,” Diran said. “My name-”

“-is Stendar,” Yvka quickly said, “and his half-orc companion is Thon. They are agents of a Sharn merchant who specializes in importing unique and exotic items. They’ve been traveling the Principalities searching for new wares to add to their employer’s stock.”

The warforged nodded. “I see. It is good to meet both of you. Any friend of Ardella’s is a friend of mine.”

Flotsam stuck out a large three-fingered hand for them to shake. Diran did so, then Ghaji. Touching the warforged’s hand was like touching that of a living statue, but at least Flotsam was careful to keep his grip gentle.

“How has your trip been?” Flotsam asked. “Have you met with much success?”

“Some,” Diran said, “but not as much as we’d like.”

“Ah. Well, perhaps your fortunes will change for the better now that you travel with Ardella. She’s something of a good luck charm.”

“Really?” Ghaji muttered. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Flotsam turned to look at Ghaji, the green fire in his eyes burning more intensely.

“He’s jesting,” Yvka said. Then in a mock-whisper, she added, “In truth, I think he has a crush on me.”

Ghaji blushed but said nothing.

Flotsam looked at the half-orc a moment longer before the green glow in his eyes dimmed to its normal intensity. The warforged turned to face Yvka once more. “What news do you bring from Port Verge?”

“Bad news, I fear,” Yvka said. “Last night the Black Fleet struck the town.”

Though Yvka kept her voice quiet, a number of the other people on the island turned in their direction, and the news was quickly picked up and spread throughout the crowd.

“Bad news indeed,” Flotsam said. “Were Prince Kolberkon’s Diresharks able to capture any of the raiders?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Yvka said, “but then we departed soon after the raid ended.”

“I see. I’m glad that you three managed to escape the Black Fleet,” Flotsam said.

“One of our companions did not,” Diran said grimly.

“You have my condolences.”

“We’d like more than that,” Yvka said. “Might you tell my friends the stories you’ve heard about the Black Fleet?”

Flotsam hesitated for a moment before responding, as if he were carefully considering his reply. “I was under the impression that you, as well as certain mutual associates of ours, had discounted those tales.”

“We had,” Yvka said, “but last night I saw some things that cast new light on your information.”

“Ah! In that case, I’d be more than happy to tell you what I know. Let us sit and talk.”

Ghaji eyed the craggy surface of Nowhere doubtfully. Simply sitting down might be fine for Flotsam; he didn’t have a flesh-and-blood behind. The large warforged sat, and so did Diran and Yvka, so Ghaji did as well, grimacing as he settled onto the hard, uneven rock.

“As Ardella may or may not have told you, I spend a great deal of my time on Nowhere, either atop the island’s surface or beneath the waves. I see and hear many interesting things… things that often prove of value to my friends.”

Ghaji was beginning to understand. If Yvka was a member of the Shadow Network, then perhaps Flotsam was too. What better place to station a spy than here, an uncharted island in the middle of the Lhazaar Sea where powerful people from across Khorvaire and beyond met to deal and scheme under the protection of neutrality?

“I would think your constant presence wouldn’t go unnoticed by those who come here,” Diran said.

“It doesn’t, but as the story goes, I was marooned here-toward the end of the Last War. I found this location soothing after so many years of conflict, so I rejected any offers of rescue from passing vessels. After a time I came to be considered the unofficial caretaker of Nowhere, a role I do my best to fulfill.”

Diran smiled. “As the story goes.”

Flotsam nodded.

“And some of the interesting information you’ve acquired relates to the Black Fleet,” Diran said.

“What I have to tell you was cobbled together from bits and pieces of stories told by dozens of travelers. Keep in mind also that Ardella’s and my friends ultimately discounted the information, but judge for yourself. The tale begins over forty years ago, with a man called Erdis Cai.”

“The explorer?” Ghaji said. Even he’d heard of the legendary sailor Erdis Cai who’d adventured throughout the world’s seas.

“The same,” Flotsam confirmed. “Forty years ago, Erdis Cai and his entire crew were lost when their ship, the Seastar, disappeared in the harsh waters of the north. Erdis Cai and his crew were never seen or heard from after that, and all were presumed dead. Decades passed, and one dark night three elemental galleons flying black sails appeared on the Lhazaar and began raiding small seaside villages, taking little of value save for the people that lived there.”

“The Black Fleet,” Ghaji said.

“The Fleet always struck at night and chose a different target every time,” Flotsam continued, “but their raids, as swift and devastating as they were, left behind survivors-not many, perhaps, but enough. They told of raiders dressed in gray and black, men and women with shorn heads, and they told of the fleet commander, a man named Onkar.”

Diran slapped his hand on his knee. “I knew that name was familiar! Onkar was the name of Erdis Cai’s first mate!”

Ghaji frowned. “Are you saying that the Onkar we faced was the same man who sailed with the Seastar forty years ago? That would make him eighty years old at least!”

“If Onkar is a vampire, his age would be irrelevant since he would not physically grow older,” Diran said. “You should know that by now, Ghaji, given how many undead you’ve slain at my side.”

“True,” Ghaji said, “but then again, Onkar isn’t all that uncommon a name. Our Onkar doesn’t have to be the Onkar, if you know what I mean.”

“It could be coincidence,” Diran allowed, “or a simple mistake on the part of the survivors. Terrified people don’t always make the best witnesses.”

“I cannot dispute your words,” Flotsam said. “I can only pass along what I have learned.”

“Let’s assume for a moment that Erdis Cai is behind the Black Fleet raiders,” Diran said, “perhaps as the master vampire with Onkar as his disciple?”

Ghaji shrugged. “I suppose Erdis Cai and his crew wouldn’t be the first adventurers to stumble upon a nest of vampires.” The half-orc let out a snorting laugh. “Look how often it happens to us.”

“Except when they stumbled out again, they were transformed,” Diran said, “and not for the better.”

“So Erdis Cai and his crew are vampires and the other raiders are their human servants?” Ghaji asked.

“I believe so,” Diran said. “Perhaps Erdis Cai has promised to reward them with immortality if they serve him well.”

“If all this is true,” Ghaji said, “why go about raiding as the Black Fleet? Why draw attention to yourself at all? If the Lhazaar Princes were to pool their resources and go after the Fleet, which they will likely soon do if the raids keep up, the Fleet would be crushed. There has to be an easier, less risky way for Cai to obtain their food.”

Diran thought for a moment. “Perhaps they aren’t abducting people for their blood, or at least, not only for it. Perhaps they have another reason, one that’s worth the risks they take.”

A dark scowl came over Diran’s face, and Ghaji knew he was thinking about Makala and wondering if she was still alive. Ghaji wished he could say something to reassure his friend, but he could think of nothing.

“That makes sense,” Yvka said. “Over the months the Black Fleet has been striking at increasingly larger targets. Port Verge was the largest so far.”

“Maybe the raiders are simply getting more confident,” Ghaji said.

“Perhaps they’re working to some manner of timetable,” Diran said, “and they need to abduct as many people as they can as swiftly as possible.”

“This talk is all well and good,” Ghaji said, “and who knows? Some of it might even be true, but what use is it to us? If Erdis Cai is the vampire lord of the Black Fleet, how does knowing this held us find him?”

“It doesn’t,” Yvka said.

Flotsam cocked his head in a way that made him seem as if he were thinking. “I believe I might know of someone who might be able to lead you to Erdis Cai. He is a human named Tresslar, an elderly artificer who serves on Dreadhold. According to rumor, as a young man he sailed with Erdis Cai. If anyone could tell you more about Cai, it would Tresslar. Assuming the rumors are true, of course.”

“Very well,” Diran said. “Then we shall set sail for Dread-hold at once. Thank you, Flotsam, for…” The priest broke off, his eyes widening. “The shifter is trying to steal the Zephyr!”

Ghaji, Yvka, and Flotsam turned to look seaward. Sure enough, the shifter who had taken the shark from Flotsam was now aboard the Zephyr, swiftly hauling up the anchor. Two others stood on the deck of the sloop: A bare-chested, dark-skinned man covered with brightly colored concentric tattoos and a half-elven female with long blond hair who wore a green skirt and a top that left her midriff bare. They were all dripping wet, and it was no great leap of logic to guess that the shifter and his compatriots had swam silently from their ship to the Zephyr and stealthily climbed aboard. As the shifter worked to bring up the anchor, his two companions, both armed with bows, kept watch. The message was clear: if anyone tried to stop the thieves, they’d make the sudden acquaintance of the business end of an arrow.

Flotsam started to rise, but Yvka grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

“Why did you do that?” the warforged asked, sounding mote puzzled than angry. “Arrows can’t harm me.”

“True,” Yvka said, “but you’d never reach the Zephyr in time. They can’t activate and control the air elemental, but they can use the oars to row the boat far away enough that you won’t be able to get to it.”

Ghaji figured the thieves would tie the Zephyr to their two-master then tow the elemental sloop someplace where they could sell it for a handsome price.

“They can’t have it,” Diran said. “I need that craft if I’m to have any hope of finding Makala.” A wild gleam came into Diran’s eyes then, and Ghaji groaned, for he knew his friend had just had an idea.

Without taking his gaze from the thieves, Diran said, “Ghaji, your axe is still aboard the Zephyr, isn’t it?”

“Under one of the seats,” the half-orc confirmed.

“Get ready to grab it as soon as you’re back aboard.”

Before Ghaji could ask his friend just what he was talking about, Diran spoke to Flotsam. “When I give you the signal, I want you to pick Ghaji up and hurl him onto the Zephyr. Are you strong enough to do that?”

“Yes,” Flotsam said, without any hint of ego or boasting, merely stating a fact.

“Well then,” Diran said, “get ready.”

Ghaji wished they had time to discuss alternative plans, especially ones that didn’t involve him being thrown like a ball by a barnacle-encrusted warforged, but there was no time. A quick glance showed Ghaji that the crew of the two-master was already frantically scurrying about, preparing to set sail and leave Nowhere, and the rightful owner of the Zephyr, far behind.

“Now!”

Diran stood, drawing a pair of daggers from the leather strap around his chest as he did. As he straightened to his full height, he hurled the daggers toward the Zephyr and the thieves who now trod her decks. Ghaji presumed the blades streaked toward their targets, but he didn’t see if they did, for Flotsam scooped him up with his thick metal and stone arms as if the half-orc were but an infant. The huge warforged spun around twice to build up momentum, then he released Ghaji into the air.

The world became a rushing blur as Ghaji ascended, and it felt as if his stomach sank to the bottoms of his feet. He straightened his arms out before him, his legs behind, as if he were preparing to dive into water. Though there was plenty of the wet stuff for leagues in all directions, he was hoping to land on a soarwood deck. He reached the apex of his flight and began to plunge downward. Now his stomach felt as if it were pressing against the back of his throat, perhaps in a desperate attempt to escape before the fool who controlled their mutual body managed to get both of them killed.

Ghaji saw the deck of the Zephyr rapidly approaching. The tattooed man clutched the hilt of a dagger protruding from his left shoulder, blood streaming from the wound and pouring over his fingers. The half-elf had crouched down to make herself a smaller target and was swiftly drawing arrows from her quiver, nocking and loosing them with speed and grace. If she’d been wounded by one of Diran’s daggers, she showed no sign of it. The shifter had gotten the anchor up and was now fitting the oars to the oarlocks. Of the three thieves, Ghaji would’ve liked to take out the half-elven archer first, but his trajectory wasn’t carrying him toward her. It was, however, taking him straight toward the wounded man.

Flying half-orcs can’t be choosers, I guess, Ghaji thought, then he balled his hands into fists and slammed into the tattooed man.

The dark-skinned thief howled in pain and fury as he and Ghaji crumpled to a heap on the deck. Ghaji heard the harsh, brittle sound of snapping bones, and he hoped they weren’t his. The impact had, however, knocked the wind out of Ghaji, and gasping for breath, he rolled off the tattooed man and reached for the compartment where he’d stowed his axe. He managed to close his fingers around the haft just as he heard the twang of a released bowstring. He rolled to the side as an arrow sank into the wooden deck after passing through the space where his throat had been an instant before. As he came up onto his feet, he brought the flat of his axe head up and deflected another arrow.

The half-elf stood facing him, already nocking another arrow. Ghaji was about to throw his axe at her, when her eyes went wide and she stiffened. She released her grip on her bow and it clattered to the deck, arrow undrawn and unreleased. The woman took a step toward Ghaji, her mouth working but no sound coming out. She pitched forward, and as she fell to the deck, Ghaji saw the hilt of a dagger protruding from between her shoulder blades.

Ghaji knew he had Diran to thank for saving him, but he had no time to spare for even a grateful wave. He heard a growl and turned just in time to meet the shifter’s charge. The man had assumed his more bestial aspect; his eyes were feral yellow, his teeth longer and sharper, fingers now hooked into deadly claws, and his body hair had grown wild and shaggy, more like wolf fur than human hair. Often the mere sight of such a transformation was enough to startle a shifter’s opponent, causing him or her to hesitate for one fateful second… and a second was all any shifter needed.

Ghaji had faced many shifters on the battlefields of the Last War, and he’d fought far more fearsome foes since joining up with Diran. Thus the half-orc didn’t hesitate as the shifter came lunging toward him. He didn’t have time to swing his axe, but he was able to bring it up in time for the shifter to slam face-first into the flat of the axe-head. The shifter staggered back, nose gushing blood.

“Leave now and I’ll forget I ever saw you,” Ghaji offered. “Stay and die.”

The shifter glared at Ghaji with his amber eyes and licked at the blood covering his upper lip.

“Big talk from a half-breed,” the shifter snarled.

Ghaji’s grip tightened on his axe. “Now that was the wrong thing to say.”

He stepped forward and swung his axe in a vicious arc at the shifter’s neck. The shifter leaned backward just in time to avoid having his throat sliced open. He countered with a swipe of his claws aimed at Ghaji’s face, but the half-orc brought his left arm up to block the blow. Ghaji had allowed the momentum of his failed axe swing to bring the weapon around, and now he brought the axe up over his head and slammed it down on the shifter’s. The sharp blade sliced through the shifter’s scalp, shattered the top of his skull, and bit into the soft pulpy mass within.

The shifter stopped fighting and stood looking at Ghaji, blinking several times in an expression of bewilderment, as if he couldn’t quite understand what had happened to him.

“Oh,” the shifter said, as if something profound had just occurred to him. Then his eyes rolled white and he collapsed to the deck, his ruined brain making a wet sucking sound as gravity drew it away from Ghaji’s blood-smeared axe-head.

Ghaji didn’t pause to savor his victory over the shifter. He turned to check on the tattooed man, and good thing, too, for the wounded thief was on his feet and moving toward Ghaji, his features twisted into a mask of rage, Diran’s dagger still embedded in his shoulder.

Ghaji waited for the man to get closer, and when he was near enough, the half-orc stepped aside from the railing. Unable to stop his approach, the tattooed man slammed into the railing, pitched over, and fell toward the water, bellowing his anger and frustration. His bellow didn’t last long, however, for it was cut off as soon as he plunged into the sea.

Still holding his axe, Ghaji stepped back to the railing and looked over. A series of ripples spread out from where the tattooed man had sunk. Ghaji watched, waiting for the man to swim back up to the surface, planning to offer him the same choice he’d given the shifter. Ghaji waited… and waited…

A fountain of bubbling froth broke the surface, and an instant later the foamy white turned crimson. The tattooed man’s head bobbed above the water, and his mouth opened wide to scream. Before any sound could come out, the maw of a large grayish-white shark much larger than the one Flotsam had caught rose up behind the man and snapped its jaws down on his head. The shark then disappeared beneath the water, taking the tattooed man with it and leaving behind nothing but a roiling mass of blood and seafoam.

Looks like the shark Flotsam caught wasn’t the only one plying the waters around Nowhere, Ghaji thought. He had a sudden thought and turned to look at the dead bodies of the shifter and the half-elf. The corpses needed to be disposed of, so why not a burial at sea? Maybe the big shark had a few hungry friends.

Ghaji started toward the bodies.