by Tim Waggoner
Yvka and Tresslar followed after the halfling, running past Asenka and leaving the woman standing alone at their abandoned table. She shrugged, turned, took a deep breath, and ran after them.
They were halfway to the dock by the time Asenka told the others what had happened to Diran and Ghaji. From what she'd heard of the priest and his half-orc friend, they weren't unfamiliar with trouble, and the speed at which their companions had reacted to Asenka's appearance told the Sea Scorpion commander just how familiar with trouble they truly were.
Yvka stopped and motioned for the others to do the same. The elfwoman swiveled her head slowly as she scanned their surroundings. Asenka knew that elves' vision was far keener than humans', especially in the dark, but she nevertheless wondered if Yvka could actually see anything. Though the fog had dissipated somewhat, the night was still murky, so that even elf eyes might have difficulty penetrating the mist roiling through Perhata's streets. Still, Asenka hadn't survived in the Sea Scorpions as long as she had by ignoring potential danger.
"What's wrong?" she asked as she drew her sword.
"I'm… not sure," Yvka admitted. "There's something…"
A figure stepped out of the fog then, seeming to coalesce out of the mist as if born of it. The figure came closer, and Asenka recognized the woman-if such a creature could be called a woman-who had confronted her before.
Yvka reached into the pouch hanging from her belt and withdrew a wooden juggling ball. Asenka noticed that the elf-woman's hand trembled. Tresslar stared open-mouthed at the blonde woman, his expression one of absolute shock. The old artificer recovered quickly and from his belt drew a wand that terminated in a golden dragonhead.
Asenka expected the halfling to react the same way as his two friends, but he didn't reach for a weapon, didn't gaze upon the blonde woman with fear. Instead, his mouth stretched into a wide grin.
"You're Makala, right? Will Diran ever be surprised to see you! I never got a chance to meet you, at least not formally." He stepped and held out his hand. "But I looked in on you a couple times while Diran tried to… tried to…" His hand began to shake then, and the tremors quickly spread to the rest of his body until the halfling was trembling so hard Asenka feared his small heart might burst.
The woman smiled sadly at Hinto. "While Diran tried to prevent my becoming a vampire."
Hinto nodded, but he didn't lower his trembling hand.
"There is no need to fear me," Makala said. "I know what's happened to Diran and Ghaji, and I wish to help."
"How can we trust you?" Yvka said. Her voice was firm, but there was a trace of fear in her eyes. "You're not human anymore."
For an instant, Makala's eyes flashed crimson, but then they returned to normal. "You're not human either, but I don't hold that against you."
"Elves may not be human," Tresslar said, "but they aren't blood-drinking monsters."
The vampire turned to the artificer. "If I wished to harm any of you, I could've done so long before now. All that need concern you-" she glanced at Asenka-"all of you, is that I wish to use my abilities to help rescue our friends. If you can't accept what I've become, perhaps you can at least accept that."
The tension in the air was far thicker than any sea fog could ever be. Yvka, Tresslar, and Hinto exchanged glances, and Asenka could guess what they were thinking: if it came down to it, could they stand against Makala without Diran and Ghaji's aid?
"We're wasting time," Asenka said. "While we stand here talking, the Coldhearts are sailing farther out to sea. We can worry later about whether or not we can trust one another."
The elfwoman, the halfling, and the artificer exchanged glances once more then nodded in silent agreement.
Makala smiled grimly. "Good. I'll meet you at the Zephyr. I have something I need to put aboard first if I'm to sail with you." The woman made no outward display of power, but her form grew hazy and indistinct, and then her body separated into shreds of mist that curled away and vanished into the night.
"What's the Zephyr?" Asenka asked, but the other three were already running again, and she hurried to keep up with them.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Diran watched as Bruk picked up the dagger and rose to his feet. The boy raised his hands and took a step backward.
"But I spared your life!"
"You're a fool," the sea raider said as he slowly advanced. "You should've slit my throat from ear to ear and laughed as my life's blood splashed onto the floor." He smiled. "That's what I would've done."
Bruk lunged at Diran with the dagger, but the man's balance was off, making Diran wonder just how long the Brotherhood of the Blade had held him captive and how often he'd been fed during that time. Bruk listed to the left, and his legs wobbled as if they were having a hard time supporting his weight. Diran lashed out with a foot and kicked Bruk's left leg out from under him, causing the sea raider to fall to the floor. Bruk hadn't completely forgotten his fighting skills, though, and managed to keep hold of the dagger and avoid skewering himself with it as he hit.
Bruk glared at Diran, baring his teeth as if he were a wild animal. Appropriate, Diran thought, considering what the bastard had done to his parents.
"Just for that, I'll take my time gutting you, boy." Bruk began to pull himself up on his feet.
Diran remembered something his father had told him-
Sometimes when you're out on the water, everything will seem calm one moment, and then a storm will blow up out of nowhere. It's times like those when you most need to keep your wits about you. Giving in to fear is the fastest way to find yourself at the bottom of the Lhazaar.
Diran forced himself to remain calm and consider his options, such as they were. He knew there was no point trying to reach either door. Even if they were unlocked, which he very much doubted, surely some of the older acolytes-such as the ones who'd brought Bruk in-were waiting on the other side to prevent him from escaping. He also knew that there was no point in trying to appeal to Cathmore's sympathies, for the elder assassin had none. The only resources available to him were what lay inside the weapons chest… and in the box Cathmore held in his hands.
Diran ran toward Cathmore just as Bruk got to his feet and slashed out with the dagger. Diran heard the hiss of the blade parting air behind him and felt the breeze of its passage on the back of his neck. Bruk had missed, but not by much. As Diran approached Cathmore, the assassin stood motionless, though his gaze was riveted on Diran, almost as if he were studying the boy and assessing his actions.
Diran reached into the box and grabbed several vials at random. He turned to see Bruk charging, eyes blazing with anger, dagger raised for a killing strike.
Diran hurled the vials at Bruk's face.
Without thinking, Bruk lashed out with the dagger to protect himself, and the blade struck several of the vials. Glass shattered, liquid splattered-some of it onto Bruk's face and into his eyes. The other vials either missed him or bounced off his chest to burst apart harmlessly against the floor, but the poison that Bruk's blow had released was more than sufficient.
The sea raider screamed, dropped the dagger, and clapped his hands to his face. The skin around his eyes, nose, and mouth turned greenish-black and began to swell. He collapsed onto his side, his body spasming wildly, as if the muscles were tearing free from his skeleton. Then Bruk made a strangled gurling noise deep in his throat, stiffened once, and went limp. The poison had finished doing its work.
Diran looked at the corpse of the man who was responsible for the deaths of his parents, and though he was shamed by it, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction mingled with relief.
I hope you can rest easier now, Mother and Father.
"Well done, lad."
Diran turned to Cathmore and was surprised to see the assassin grinning.
"You didn't have the training to fight Bruk hand to hand, so you used the only weapon that would even the odds between you." Cathmore's grin took on a hard edge. "That's another reason I favor poison: it doesn't matter how
powerful or skilled its victims are. All must bow before its power."
Diran didn't respond. Instead he walked over to Bruk and knelt at the sea raider's side. He retrieved the dagger Bruk had dropped and rubbed its blade in a puddle of poison created when one of the vials that the sea raider had missed had fallen to the floor, then he spun, rising to his feet as he did so, and hurled the dagger at Cathmore. The blade flew straight and true and embedded itself in the poison-master's left shoulder. Cathmore's eyes widened in surprise and he dropped the box holding the remaining poisons. It crashed onto the floor, spilling the rest of its contents in a mess of broken glass and foul-smelling liquid.
Blood welled forth from the wound and Cathmore reached up with a trembling hand, as if he intended to grasp the hilt and pull the blade free. Then he drew in a shuddering breath, his eyes rolled white, and he fell to the floor and lay still.
Diran stepped over to Cathmore's body and looked down upon it, a grim smile spreading across his face. "I might not have the skill to fight someone like Bruk, but my father taught me how to use a knife. He said it was a good weapon for a fisherman to have. It was small enough to wield in tight quarters and you could always use it to gut fish if necessary."
Cathmore's eyes moved to focus on Diran. "Your father was a wise man."
Diran took several frightened steps backward as Cathmore sat up.
"I applaud your ingenuity and your ruthlessness," the master assassin said, "but did you truly think that I wouldn't have long ago made myself immune to my own poisons? Even if your dagger strike itself had killed me, Emon would've simply paid to have me resurrected, though my dear half-brother would undoubtedly insist I pay him back. Still, Diran Bastiaan, I am impressed. You alone of all the children I have taught have managed to come this close to killing me." He chuckled, then drew in a hiss of air. "It hurts like blazes, though." He held out his right hand. "Help me up and we'll see about getting me to a healer, eh?"
Diran looked at Cathmore's hand for a moment before finally taking it and steadying the man as he rose to his feet.
Ghaji swung his axe at Chagai's unprotected neck. Orc necks were thick, their heads set close to their broad shoulders, so it wasn't the easiest target to hit. That didn't matter since Ghaji didn't expect his strike to connect.
Sure enough, Chagai pulled away and brought his broadsword up to defect Ghaji's blow, but at the last instant, Ghaji turned his axe downward, angled his shoulder toward Chagai, and slammed into the orc leader. Pain exploded through Ghaji's right shoulder all the way down his arm as he hit Chagai's breastplate, but the maneuver had the intended effect of throwing Chagai off balance. With his left hand Ghaji grabbed Chagai's sword arm by the wrist and twisted as hard as he could. The sound of snapping bone cut through the air, followed instantly by Chagai's agonized cry. His hand went limp and the broadsword slipped from his useless fingers.
A broken wrist wasn't enough to stop an orc warrior, though. Chagai bared his teeth and lunged, sinking them into Ghaji's right shoulder-the one already bruised and battered from his collision with Chagai's breastplate. Ghaji's hide was tougher than a human's but not as tough as a full orc's, and Chagai's teeth sliced into Ghaji's flesh as easily as a white-hot knife through butter. Now it was Ghaji's turn to bellow in pain.
He felt hot blood gush from his wound and splatter onto his chest. The agony was so intense that he thought for a moment that he might lose consciousness. Though he might be only half-orc, he was all warrior, so he fought to ignore the pain. He tossed his axe from his right hand to his left, then swung the butt-end of the weapon upward and smashed the handle into Chagai's right temple. The blow jarred Chagai's head, causing the teeth embedded into Ghaji's shoulder to jerk violently and send a fresh wave of agony surging though the half-orc's arm. He let out another bellow of pain, but he refused to yield. He hit Chagai in the head once, twice, three times more.
Chagai's eyes went wide, and Ghaji felt a soft chuff of air escape the orc's mouth and waft across his shoulder wound. Then Chagai collapsed, and since his teeth were still stuck in Ghaji's shoulder, the half-orc was pulled down with his foe. As they hit, Chagai's teeth tore free from Ghaji, causing pain so intense that Ghaji blacked out.
When he came to, he was lying on his back looking up at a blue, cloud-dotted sky. He turned his head, though it hurt like blazes to do so, and saw that Chagai lay next to him. The orc's eyes were closed, and Ghaji couldn't tell if he were alive or dead, not that he much cared at this point; he was just glad Chagai wasn't trying to kill him. He pressed two fingers against the side of Chagai's neck and felt his pulse. It was weak but steady. It appeared the mercenary commander would live. Too bad.
Slowly, painfully, Ghaji rose to his feet. He'd dropped his axe when Chagai's dead weight had pulled him down, but he didn't bother to retrieve the weapon. Chagai was no longer a threat, at least for now. Besides, Ghaji was too weary from the battle and too weak from blood loss to wield the weapon. He pressed a hand to his shoulder wound to staunch the bleeding, then turned to see where Eggera and Murtt were. The two orcs remained by the oak tree, but now they were standing, swords in hand.
Ghaji sighed. "If you plan to kill me, get on with it. I'm too tired to stop you."
Eggera and Murtt glanced at each other, then shrugged and returned their swords to their scabbards.
"It was a fair fight," Eggera said.
"Chagai got what he deserved," Murtt said with a derisive snort. "He should never have attacked you… especially from behind. There was no honor in it."
Ghaji wanted to say that there was no honor in slaughtering a cottage full of innocents, but he didn't see much point in bringing that up right then.
"What will you do now, Ghaji?" Eggera asked.
The question was innocent enough, but there was something in the female orc's tone that added an extra layer of meaning to her words. Battle-prowess was a prime requisite for orcs when searching for a lover. It seemed even a half-orc could make himself attractive to the opposite sex if he bested a superior opponent. Ghaji didn't know whether to be pleased by this development or angered that it had taken his almost getting killed to get Eggera to notice him. In the end, he decided to ignore the matter entirely.
"There's a war on. I'm sure I'll find work elsewhere." Once I heal, he added. "What of you two? Will you still follow Chagai?"
Murtt's disdainful grimace was sufficient answer. Still, he said, "Chagai has been defeated and by a half-blood, no less. He is no longer worthy of leading us." He turned to Eggera. "Let's go."
Eggera looked at Ghaji once more, a question in her eyes. Ghaji responded by looking away. A moment later he heard the sound of the two orcs walking away. He didn't turn around again for several moments, lest he give Eggera the wrong impression, then he spent some time cleaning and bandaging his wound. When he was finished, he returned to Chagai's side. The orc was beginning to stir, though he had a way to go to reach full consciousness. Ghaji picked up his axe with his left hand and stared down at his former commander. There was no honor in slaying a defenseless foe, but then Chagai hadn't worried about that last night at the wood-wright's cottage, had he? Ghaji wasn't skilled with using his left hand to fight, but he thought he could wield his axe well enough to do what had to be done.
He pressed the edge of his axe blade to Chagai's throat, and in his mind he once more heard the screams of the wood-wright and his family as they died. Slaying Chagai would be justice, but slaying Chagai while he was helpless would make Ghaji just like him.
Ghaji hesitated. Finally, he pulled the axe away from Chagai's throat and tucked it beneath his belt. Let Chagai live with the knowledge that he'd been beaten by a half-blood. That would be far worse for him than death.
Ghaji turned to go, then he stopped. He turned back around and looked at Chagai's breastplate. There was a small dent from where Ghaji had slammed into the metal, but otherwise it was still good as new-if you didn't count the blood splashed on it from Ghaji's shoulder wound.
If I'm go
ing to strike out on my own, I could use some armor, he thought.
He knelt down and began undoing the breastplate's leather straps.
Ghaji opened his eyes to darkness. His head throbbed and his throat felt as if he'd been gargling with the stomach acid of a purple worm. He tried to move and when he couldn't, he realized that his hands and feet were bound.
If I had a copper piece for every time I've been taken prisoner…
The last Ghaji remembered was being attacked by Haaken and the Coldhearts. If he had to bet where he was, he'd guess the hold of the Coldhearts' ship. Was Diran here as well? He opened his mouth to whisper his friend's name, but when Ghaji tried to speak, he started coughing, and it took several moments for him to regain control of himself.
"Don't worry. It's a side-effect of the drug the Coldhearts used." Diran's voice was soft and scratchy but audible. "It's called the amber sleep, and it's made from the leaves of a plant that grows in the jungles of Xen'drik. It's rare and quite expensive. I wonder how Haaken got hold of it."
"How do you know? Oh, right. Former assassin." Ghaji struggled to break free of his bonds, but they held tight. He gave up and turned toward Diran's direction. "Do you still have any of your daggers?"
"Unfortunately not. Haaken and his people not only removed the daggers I carried on my person, they also took my cloak."
Ghaji was disappointed but not surprised. After all, his axe had been taken as well. Still, they weren't completely without weapons. "If you're not already lying down, Diran, do so."
Ghaji heard rustling nearby. "Done," Diran said.
Ghaji sighed. He really didn't want to do this, but he could think of no other way that they could get free. He wriggled over to Diran, lay down on his side, and shifted position until his head was next to Diran's wrists. Then Ghaji opened his mouth, and using his sharp teeth, he began to carefully gnaw upon the rope binding his friend's arms behind his back. It only took a few moments for Ghaji to free Diran's hands, and after he shifted position once more, his feet.
