He turned to Diran, but his friend was no longer sitting next to him. He looked over his shoulder, and by the soft blue-white glow of the ring-bound air elemental, he saw Diran and Yvka. They were talking to one another, both wearing the hoods of their cloaks up to keep off the rain. Ghaji shook his head. He didn’t understand why they bothered. It was just a little water.
A bolt of lightning cut the darkness, and for an instant night became day. The lightning was followed almost immediately by a thunderclap so loud that Ghaji’s eardrums rang as if his ears had just been boxed by a warforged.
Yvka shouted something, but Ghaji’s ears rang too loudly for him to hear her. He didn’t think she was asking him if he’d slept well, though.
The wind picked up strength and speed until it drove the rain sideways and sent it stinging into Ghaji’s skin like tiny daggers of ice. The thought of wearing his hood up in a storm no longer seemed so amusing, and Ghaji pulled the hood of his traveler’s cloak over his head and drew the fabric over his shoulders. The cloth had been treated to be water resistant, but that didn’t make it waterproof, especially in a storm of this intensity. Rain began to soak through immediately, but at least the cloak continued to provide some meager protection against the wind.
Speaking of the wind, it was now blowing so hard that the slate-gray water of the Lhazaar Sea was rising and dipping alarmingly, and spray was breaking over the Zephyr’s guardrails and onto the deck. Ghaji had no idea if the elemental sloop was built to withstand such a storm, but he figured it was time he found out. He started back to the pilot’s seat, doing his best to maintain his balance and ignore the nausea roiling in his stomach in response to the turbulent sea.
Another blinding lightning flash lit up the sky, and this time the accompanying thunder came so quickly it almost seemed to precede the lightning. Ghaji struggled to see past the glowing afterimages the lightning flash left in his eyes. He wasn’t sure, but it looked as if the blue-white glow of the elemental bound within the metal ring mounted behind Yvka was flickering like a flame in a high wind.
Ghaji reached the pilot’s seat. Yvka sat with her hands pressed tight against the chair arms, while Diran held onto the chair back, his head leaned close to the elf-woman’s so they could hear each other over the storm. Ghaji took hold of the chairback and squatted on the other side of the pilot’s seat. It seemed that Diran and Yvka were arguing about something, but even this close, Ghaji still had trouble hearing all their words through the howling wind and driving rain.
“…can make it!” Yvka shouted.
“Not if… any worse!” Diran shouted back.
“Soarwood… strong enough… mast will hold… and elemental can … to get us through!” Yvka replied.
Ghaji understood the gist of their argument now. Yvka wanted to weather the storm while Diran thought it was too dangerous and likely wanted to detour around it. Given how badly Diran wanted to rescue Makala and the other prisoners captured by the Black Fleet raiders, the situation had to be dire indeed for him to suggest taking anything other than the most direct route to Dreadhold.
Ghaji leaned his face closer to Yvka’s so she might hear him better. “Have you ever sailed the Zephyr through a storm this bad before?”
“Summer storms like this are common on the Lhazaar!” Yvka shouted. It was a strain, but Ghaji was able to make out all her words this time. “They blow themselves out within an hour or so!”
“That doesn’t answer my question. Have you ever been through a storm like this?”
Yvka didn’t respond right away. Ghaji couldn’t see her expression since her features were concealed by her hood.
“No,” she said at last, speaking so softly her voice was nearly carried away on the roaring wind. “I haven’t.”
“The storm moved in from the northeast!” Diran shouted. “Tack southwest! That should get us out of the worst of it!”
Before Yvka could respond, lightning flashed and thunder cracked once more. This time they could hear the sizzle of the lightning, and a charge ran through the air, making their hair, wet though it might be, stand on end.
“South it is!” Yvka shouted. “I’ll work the tiller and keep the elemental going! Diran, you and Ghaji go forward and trim the mainsail! We’ll be running with the wind at least partially at our backs, and the storm wind, together with that generated by the elemental, might be too much for the mast to bear!”
“Aye, Captain! No problem!” Ghaji said, though he had only the vaguest notion of what “trim” meant. He wasn’t about to admit to that Yvka; besides, he was sure Diran could show him.
Diran reached over and clapped Ghaji on the arm. “Come, my friend! Time to begin your sailor’s education!”
Ghaji scowled. He couldn’t see Yvka’s face hidden in the folds of her hood, but he had no doubt the elf-woman was grinning.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Makala, free of her manacles, tried not to shiver as Onkar and Jarlain escorted her down a cold, dank corridor. She was chilled and she was frightened, but she’d been trained never to show the least sign of weakness to an enemy. She visualized standing on a beach in the bright noon sunshine, and it helped… a little, anyway. The hall was shrouded in gloom and shadow, the darkness relieved only by the occasional placement of torches that emitted a greenish light that did little to push back the darkness. Still, it was better than nothing, if only just.
She experienced an unexpected longing for the evil spirit that had once shared her soul. If their essences were still intertwined, she wouldn’t have to struggle to control her fear. The spirit had made her feel strong, confident, invulnerable.
The surfaces of the walls, ceiling, and floor were smooth and even, and every few dozen yards iron support beams had been erected to brace the tunnel. The corridor had obviously been carved into the interior of the cliff, and despite her current situation, Makala couldn’t help but be impressed at the time and effort such a feat of engineering must have required. It was worthy of the dwarf miners of the Mror Holds, though she doubted dwarves were responsible for the construction of this place. She’d seen no sign of a mining operation so far, let alone any dwarves. Besides, the ceiling was ten feet from the floor. Why would dwarves build a tunnel with so high a ceiling?
They passed wooden doors reinforced with bands of iron, though since all of the doors were closed, Makala had no idea what might lay in the chambers behind them. Considering what she knew of this place’s occupants, she didn’t think she wanted to know. The corridor was deserted for the most part, though occasionally they encountered others, mostly men and women with shaved heads like the Black Fleet raiders, though these were garbed in simple black robes. Once a pair of shaved heads were escorting a group of a half-dozen prisoners who were shackled at the wrist and ankles just as she had been. Makala guessed that they had been here for a while, for their clothing was torn, tattered, and caked with filth. Their hair was long and tangled, fingernails broken or chewed to the quick, and the men all had beards in varying stages of development. The prisoners were cadaverously thin, looking almost like living skeletons with only a thin layer of pale-white skin stretched over their bones. Their eyes were sunken into their sockets, the flesh around them so dark it looked bruised. Their necks, arms, and legs were dotted with puckered round scars, as if they had been tortured by having needle-sharp spikes driven into their flesh. Makala knew the skin of these poor people hadn’t been violated by metal but rather by teeth, hungry, thirsty teeth. Worst of all was the expression on their faces. Their features were slack, eyes half-lidded and devoid of the least sign of intelligence or awareness. It was as if their lifeforces—indeed, their very souls—had been bled out of them along with their bodily fluids. Was this the fate that awaited her, Zabeth and the others from Port Verge? Makala didn’t want to think about it, and she was glad when they moved past the prisoners and continued on their way.
To try and get the lost, vacant expressions of the prisoners out of her head, Makala turned h
er thoughts to Erdis Cai. Could he really be the Erdis Cai, the legendary sailor and explorer? While growing up, she’d heard tales of his exploits, and she remembered how Diran had liked to read about Cai in the days when they’d both still lived in Emon Gorsedd’s manor. She’d skimmed one or two of those books herself, just to get a feeling for what Diran was reading as a way of getting closer to him. From what she recalled of her reading, Erdis Cai, after more adventure than most humans saw in a full lifetime, disappeared along with his crew before his fiftieth year. That had been four decades ago. She supposed that it was possible that the man she was going to meet was indeed Erdis Cai, assuming that he’d remained alive and in hiding for the last forty years. The man would be in his eighties by now, unless…
She glanced sideways at Onkar. If he was a vampire…
Makala started shivering, and this time she couldn’t stop herself.
The corridor continued on for a long distance, but finally the hallway began to grow wider, the ceiling higher, and the corridor came to a dead end at a pair of large metal doors. Two huge iron rings served as knockers, and Onkar stepped forward, lifted one, and let it fall. The ring slammed against the metal surface of the door with a deep, hollow boom that vibrated through Makala’s bones. A moment passed, then two, and the doors slowly swung open. Makala expected to hear the protesting creak of ancient hinges, but the doors opened silently and smoothly, obviously well maintained. When they were open all the way, Onkar turned to her, and with a mocking gleam in his eye, made a sweeping bow.
“After you.”
Jarlain smiled but said nothing.
Makala did not want to go inside. Every instinct she possessed screamed for her to turn and run back down the corridor as fast as she could. She knew that doing so would result in punishment or perhaps even death, but that didn’t matter, just as long as she didn’t have to pass through the doorway that lay open before her. Despite her terror, or perhaps in a strange way because of it, Makala held her ground. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then slowly released it. She crossed the threshold, Onkar and Jarlain following close behind.
The first thing that struck Makala about the chamber inside was its size. It was immense, so large that she couldn’t see the far wall. The second thing that struck her was the stalactites hanging from the ceiling, and she realized that she wasn’t standing in a manmade structure at all but rather a huge natural cavern. A series of black iron braziers were placed throughout the cavern, their flames burning with the same subdued green light that illuminated the corridors. Makala neither saw nor smelled smoke, so she assumed the green fires were magical. The cavern, despite its size, was far from empty. The uneven rocky floor was covered with all manner of objects, both large and small, mundane and esoteric, scattered about without any apparent thought to organization. There was so much crammed so close together that Makala couldn’t comprehend it all. Certain items stood out, though, and caught her eye. Among these were a wooden barrel filled with cutlasses, each with a severed skeletal hand still gripping tight to the handle; the shell of a gigantic turtle, its hard surface covered with sparkling gems that appeared to have grown there naturally instead of being mounted in place by a jeweler’s hand; stone tablets sitting upright, indecipherable runes carved into their surface, the marks seeming to blur, distort, and rearrange into new yet equally enigmatic shapes if stared at for too long; a ten foot chunk of amber, trapped inside the shadowy form of a humanoid creature with four arms and a long forked tail; a pair of polished curving mammoth tusks propped up next to a set of huge jaws that could only have come from a monstrous shark; a gold-framed upright mirror whose smooth surface displayed no reflection but instead a furiously roiling darkness; a trio of what Makala at first thought were statues, but which she realized were instead deactivated warforged, but none like she’d ever seen before. These were crafted to resemble human-sized spiders, four of their eight legs terminating in wickedly sharp scimitar blades.
Though these and other bizarre objects dominated the cavern, by far the most common items in the sprawling collection were piles of weapons: swords, pikes, battle-axes, spears, bows; mounds of jewelry—necklaces, medallions, rings, brooches, all wrought from precious metals; vases, goblets, bowls, platters… paintings, statues, musical instruments… and of course coins; platinum, gold, silver, copper—different sizes, shapes, and denominations. It was as if all the riches and wonders of Khorvaire had been gathered up and stored within this cavern.
Makala could only stand and stare, jaw hanging open, scarcely breathing as she struggled to cope with the staggering grandeur spread out before her.
“One tends to acquire quite a few possessions over the course of eight decades. I keep thinking that I really should get rid of some of it, but I can never bring myself to do so. Too sentimental, I suppose.”
Makala heard the voice, but she didn’t see the speaker. The sound seemed to come from right next to her, as if whoever it was had spoken softly in her ear, but when she turned to look, no one was there.
“I’m glad to see you’ve returned from your latest voyage, Onkar… and with a guest. She could use a bath and a change of clothes, but otherwise she’s quite lovely.”
Makala still couldn’t see who was speaking, but she didn’t appreciate what he’d said.
“At least I don’t hide from an unarmed woman like a coward,” she snapped. She instantly regretted her rash comment. She’d been trained to keep a tighter rein on her emotions.
There was no flash of light, no puff of smoke. One moment the space in front of her was empty, and the next a man stood before her. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, tall, broad-shouldered, with close-cropped white hair that tapered to a subdued widow’s peak. An old scar ran from the top of his forehead, over his right eye, and down to his chin. Instead of marring his appearance, the scar only served to enhance it, making his handsome, patrician features stand out in counterpoint. His skin had a whitish-blue cast, though it was currently tinted green from the mystic verdant fires that burned in the braziers illuminating the cavern. His gaze was clear and sharp, blazing with both fierce intelligence and indomitable will. The eyes themselves were tinted red, but unlike Onkar’s eyes they didn’t glow with an inner crimson fire. Makala sensed the great power the man commanded, but she could also sense that he held it in check, controlling it, making it serve him instead of the other way around.
Though he wore no helmet, he was otherwise encased in full armor with curved spiked protrusions at the shoulders and elbows. At first Makala thought the armor had been forged out of some kind of black metal or perhaps that it had been painted black after it was made. The armor didn’t reflect the greenish light from the braziers; rather, it seemed to absorb it, as if the armor had been wrought from some arcane shadowy substance. She thought one might reach out to touch the armor, only to find one’s fingers sinking into the darkness as if it truly were nothing more than shadow, and a hungry shadow at that. The armor wasn’t completely black, however. Emblazoned on the breast plate was a symbol, a large crimson teardrop shape that appeared to be emerging from the fanged mouth of a bestial copper skull. Hanging from the swordbelt around the man’s waist was a black-handled broadsword in an ebon scabbard. Makala wondered if once the sword was drawn it would shine with a silvery metallic gleam or if the blade would be as black as the man’s armor. She hoped she wouldn’t get an opportunity to find out.
Makala could only stand and stare, heartbeat pounding in her ears loud as thunder. She couldn’t move, could scarcely breathe, could only stand immobile before him like a small animal frozen in terror by the mesmeric gaze of a hungry snake.
“Welcome. My name is Erdis Cai.”
He said nothing more, just continued to look at her with his piercing red-tinged eyes. Sensing he was waiting to see what she would do, Makala put on a brave front.
“Am I supposed to be impressed?”
Erdis Cai’s eyes widened in surprise, then he threw back his head and laughed. His l
aughter echoed throughout the cavern, and Makala could feel the rock tremble beneath her feet in response to its master’s mirth.
When he looked at Makala again, he was smiling. “How delightful!” He turned to Onkar. “I think I’m beginning to see why you brought this one to my attention.”
Onkar smiled. “Her name’s Makala, Captain. She helped those two I told you about kill Sagaj. She used a crossbow, but there’s more to her than archery skills.” The crimson fire in the sailor’s eyes blazed more intensely. “A lot more.”
Jarlain looked at Makala then, but there was no amusement in her eyes, no smile on her beautiful pale face. “Perhaps she should spend some time with me then.” The woman reached up and stroked Makala’s jawline with a long-nailed index finger. “You know how much I enjoy getting to know newcomers… peeling away their outer layers to discover what secrets lie hidden underneath.”
As Jarlain stroked Makala’s jaw, Makala felt a sudden surge of fear. Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps.
Onkar chuckled. “You mean we know how jealous you get whenever the captain shows an interest in anyone but you. The more you learn about her, the better you’ll be able to compete with her, yes?”
Jarlain’s eyes flashed, and she removed her hand from Makala’s face. The physical contact was broken; the fear that had gripped Makala drained away, leaving her shaky and weak.
“Watch you tongue, Onkar. You may be commander of the Black Fleet, but I am the mistress of Grimwall!”
Before Onkar could reply, Erdis Cai interrupted, his voice cold as winter frost. “You both are who I say you are. No more, no less.”
Jarlain and Onkar exchanged hate-filled looks before bowing to Erdis Cai.
“My most sincere apologies, my lord,” Jarlain said, though in a tone that made it clear she wasn’t sorry in the slightest.
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