by Tim Waggoner
"I regret our last encounter, priest," Solus said as Diran joined them. "I hope you will forgive me."
Diran smiled. "I've had a great deal of practice at forgiving. I think I can manage to do it one more time."
"I hate it when you sneak around like that," Ghaji said. "At least now there's one of us you can't hide from."
Diran's smile fell away and his expression became grim. "Let us hope Cathmore has no more success hiding from our new friend than I did."
The night was more than halfway gone by the time Skarm entered his mistress's lair. His burns were almost entirely healed, thanks to a lone streetwalker in Perhata who'd reluctantly donated her life to fuel the barghest's healing. Unfortunately, dealing with his injuries had used up all the life energy he'd stolen, and Skarm was hungry once more. As he padded along the tunnel to Nathifa's chamber in wolf form, he kept alert for any vermin that might make a quick snack, but aside from himself, the tunnel was empty. Even rats and lizards were afraid to enter into the presence of his dread mistress, it seemed.
Skarm wasn't surprised to find Nathifa sitting at her table, gazing into the empty eye sockets of her obsidian skull. The lich didn't turn around or in any way acknowledge his return, but he knew she was aware of him nevertheless. He shifted to goblin form so that he could converse with her. But before he could say anything, Nathifa spoke.
"You have failed to obtain the Amahau."
Her tone was cold, utterly devoid of emotion, and that frightened Skarm far more than if she'd been angry. He knew it would do him no good to make excuses, but he couldn't help himself.
"I tried… several times, but I encountered… difficulties." He hated hearing the wheedling sound of his own voice.
"I know all about your so-called difficulties. Espial has kept me informed of your progress, or rather, your lack thereof." Nathifa stroked the black skull's smooth round dome with slow, gentle motions of her bone-white hand, as if the object were a beloved child… or perhaps a lover.
Nathifa didn't take her gaze off Espial, and Skarm wasn't sure whether or not to be grateful. When his mistress got like this, she was difficult to read. He had no idea whether he was going to be punished for his failures, or if she were so caught up in communing with whatever spirit inhabited the obsidian skull that she was going to ignore them. To be on the safe side, he decided to keep talking.
"I know where the priest and his companions are going. They travel to Mount Luster to confront those who have taken up residence there. The leader of the Mount Luster group is an old enemy of the priest's named Aldarik Cathmore. The priest intends to confront Cathmore, and his companions-including the artificer who carries the Amahau-travel with him. I thought-"
"— that you could make another attempt to snatch the Amahau while both groups are distracted by battle," Nathifa finished. "I know. Espial has told me this as well."
Skarm scowled at the black skull. He'd never felt comfortable around the mystical object, and he certainly didn't like it giving away his plans before he had a chance to propose them to Nathifa himself, but Skarm's irritation was swept away by his mistress's next words.
"It is a good plan, Skarm. Espial approves."
Skarm looked at the skull with newfound appreciation. Perhaps he would have to reconsider his feelings toward the thing.
"There's more going on here than we've realized, Skarm. It's as if we were part a grand tapestry-all of us: you and I, the priest and his companions, Cathmore and his allies…" Nathifa's voice held a dreamy lilt to it, as if she were under some sort of enchantment. "We are threads being brought together by a master weaver, one overlapping the other, about to be drawn tight to become the warp and woof of an ingenious design."
Nathifa rose from her chair and glided silently across the floor toward Skarm. It appeared even the endorsement of his mistress's vaunted magic skull wasn't enough to spare him from the lich's wrath. The barghest raised his arms to shield himself from the blow that was sure to come, but Nathifa moved past him and continued to the tunnel entrance.
"Don't just stand there. We have work to do."
Skarm lowered his arms and gazed at his mistress's retreating back in confusion. Since entering into Nathifa's service, Skarm had never known the lich to leave her lair, but unless he misunderstood, she intended to accompany him to Mount Luster. Nathifa disappeared into the tunnel, and a moment later she shouted Skarm's name.
The barghest shifted into wolf form and hurried to catch up to his dark mistress.
Makala had been flying in bat form for hours. Had she been a natural creature, she would have become weary long ago, but weariness was for mortals. Of course, hunger was also a mortal sensation, and being undead did not spare her from it. It had been more than a day since last she had fed-she felt a pang of guilt for poor dead Eneas-and while her strength and endurance hadn't diminished appreciably in that time, the emptiness gnawing at the core of her being was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. She could feel her tenuous control over the Hunger beginning to slip, and she knew that if she postponed feeding too long, the Hunger would take control of her. If that happened, she would become a wild creature, an animal concerned only with satisfying the basest of desires.
She pushed such concerns from her mind. Thinking of the Hunger would only make it stronger. Like Diran she had once been an assassin in the Brotherhood of the Blade, and like all in the Brotherhood, she had played host to a dark spirit implanted within her in order to blunt her natural human empathy and make her a cold and utterly dispassionate killer. She had been freed of her dark spirit some time ago, but she remembered what it was like to co-exist with evil. That experience helped her live with the Hunger without giving herself over to it, and she would have to rely on that experience once again this night.
Besides, she would feed once she found Cathmore… and then when she was finished, she would leave his desiccated corpse for the mountain scavengers to feed upon, and there would be a little less evil in the world.
Makala continued flying through the night air, allowing her senses to guide her rather than consciously choosing her direction. She could detect the scent of blood over great distances, whether it had been spilled or was still contained within a living body. She'd already sniffed out a band of elven hunters as well as a small enclave of kobolds who made their home in the mountains. Both times she'd been tempted to stop and feed a little to tide her over until she found Cathmore, but she'd resisted. She preferred to save her appetite for the main course.
She had other senses than smell to rely on, however. Her hearing was so sharp that she could pick up the soft whisper of blood as it pulsed through living veins, and she could feel the warmth radiating from a living body as if it were a miniature sun. If Cathmore was anywhere within these mountains, she'd find him.
She flew on, preternatural senses searching, searching…
As she flew, she tried to imagine the taste of Cathmore's blood as it filled her mouth and ran down her throat.
Like most orcs and half-orcs, Ghaji wasn't fond of horses-unless they were on a plate. That was all right, though, since by and large the beasts didn't care for him either. As much he disliked the smelly nags, he'd rather be sitting on the back of the most odiferous, foul-tempered horse than the so-called steed he currently rode: a nine-foot tall bird with long, powerfully muscled legs and tiny useless wings. The creature was called a stone-stepper because of its ability to gracefully navigate the rough terrain here in the foothills of the Hoarfrost Mountains, but Ghaji thought a better name would've been ass-breaker because of how uncomfortable it was to ride the monstrous avian. Asenka had supplied the mounts for them. The Sea Scorpions served as Baron Mahir's elite warriors on both sea and land, and when they needed to negotiate the mountainous terrain to the west of the city, they relied on the giant birds. According to Asenka, in the wild the creatures were fearsome predators and had phenomenal eyesight, during both the day and the night.
"Enjoying the ride, love?"
Y
vka rode behind Ghaji, her arms wrapped around the half-orc's waist. Ghaji held tight to the stone-stepper's reins, though he knew he didn't have any real control over the creature. Luckily, the giant birds seemed content to move as a flock-or herd, or whatever-so he didn't have to do much more than hold on, which was hard enough given the stone-stepper's swiftly lurching gait.
"I've taken sword-thrusts to the gut that I've enjoyed more."
Yvka laughed and snuggled against his back. "At least it's cozy."
"That's the only good thing about it," Ghaji grumbled.
They traveled in a group of four stone-steppers. Diran and Asenka rode the lead bird, then came Hinto and Solus, then Tresslar who rode alone, and Ghaji and Yvka brought up the rear on their mount. All of them were dressed warmly against the cold night air-all save Solus, of course. Warforged needed no protection against temperature extremes. The stone-steppers' saddles were designed to carry two riders per bird, and the stone-steppers were both large enough and strong enough to carry a pair of riders with ease. Ghaji would've preferred to ride in a group formation rather than single file for better security, but Asenka had said that the birds wouldn't travel any other way. As the kidney-jarring journey wore on, Ghaji had to admit that single file worked best while navigating the uneven, craggy ground and squeezing through narrow mountain passes.
"I hope Solus knows where he's going," Ghaji said. "I'm not convinced Tresslar put the pieces of the warforged's head back together in the right order."
"Solus has done well enough so far," Yvka said.
The warforged had been calling out directions to Diran ever since they'd left Perhata, and though the construct occasionally seemed unsure which way to go, most of the time he spoke with confidence.
"Do you really think Solus can track the kalashtar's 'psychic trail,' whatever that means?"
"I'm no expert," Yvka said, "but I've seen psionic crystals before, and Solus is covered with them. They alone make him a very valuable piece of property." As if realizing she'd misspoken, the elf woman hurried to add, "I mean the crystals themselves are worth quite a bit. There would be no purpose to building a warforged with such crystals if he couldn't use them."
"I suppose," Ghaji said, "but possessing a tool is not the same as being skilled in its use."
Yvka didn't reply, and Ghaji didn't know if that meant she agreed or disagreed with him or simply didn't have anything to add. They continued to ride in silence, and Ghaji found himself remembering a conversation he and Diran had had while the Sea Scorpions' groom was getting the stone-steppers saddled.
"Do you trust this warforged?" Ghaji had asked. "He did almost kill you."
"Yes," Diran replied. "Solus managed to fight off the kalashtar's control and restrain himself. He showed mercy."
"Maybe, but what if Cathmore planned for Solus to fail? Maybe the old bastard knew Solus wouldn't kill you, and he only intended for the attack to lure you into coming after him." Ghaji thought of his encounter with Chagai, and how the orc mercenary had avoided engaging him in fight to the finish. "Lure the two of us. We could be riding into a trap."
Diran smiled. "What else is new?"
The seven companions rode on, the only sounds the scrabbling of clawed avian feet on rock, the creaking of leather saddles, and the strangely soothing trill the giant birds made as they traveled.
The stone-steppers' group song, along with the heat given off by their mount's feathered body, had almost lulled Ghaji to sleep when Solus called out, "There!"
Ghaji's eyes flew open, and he looked to see the psi-forged pointing toward a small mountain that rose like a black shadow against the night sky.
Asenka called out a command in a language Ghaji didn't recognize, and the stone-stepper she and Diran rode came to a halt. Though she gave no other command, the rest of the birds also stopped.
"It's called Mount Luster," Solus said, his normally emotionless voice tinged with excitement. "That's where I was created, and that's where we shall find Cathmore and the others." The psi-forged paused, and when he spoke again, his tone was almost apologetic. "At least… I think so."
Diran looked to the others. "Well? Do we give it a try?"
"Let's go," Ghaji said. "The sooner we get there, the sooner I can get off this damned bony-backed chicken."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Galharath stood within the mouth of the psi-forge, his back to the table where Solus had been born, his hands grasping a pair of crystalline rings that hung in the air over his head. To the uninitiated, it would've appeared as if the kalashtar was simply holding the rings, but in truth they were bound to the invisible psionic energies surging through the forge, and if Galharath let go of them, the rings would continue to hold their position, as if held aloft by magic, but the power the rings allowed Galharath to tap into was far greater than any mere thaumaturgy; it was the full, unfettered strength of his own mind, made all the stronger by its connection to the psi-forge. The forge was powered by vast geothermal energies surging beneath Mount Luster, and now Galharath could draw upon that power too.
The sensations were beyond anything the kalashtar had ever experienced before. He felt intimately connected to all of creation while at the same time feeling as if he didn't exist. He knew pleasure beyond conception along with agony so intense there were no words for it. He was All, he was Nothing, he was Everything.
This must be what it feels like to be a god, he thought.
With the merest fraction of his awareness, he detected the presence of living beings approaching Mount Luster. The aura of one of these beings far outshone the others, like a blazing bonfire burning in the blackest of nights, and Galharath knew it was Solus.
"They're here," the kalashtar said, his voice a dreamy singsong, as if he were halfway between sleep and wakefulness.
Cathmore stood outside the psi-forge's entrance, Chagai at his side. The old man rubbed his claw hands together with undisguised glee upon hearing Galharath's news.
"Excellent! Is everything in readiness?"
Galharath was barely aware at first of the old man's question.
Cathmore repeated Galharath's name more sharply, and the psionic artificer reluctantly allowed himself to recall the old man's existence.
"The psi-forge has been fully reconfigured into its defense mode. The inner walls of the facility have been shielded so that the psionic energies cannot be detected from outside. Solus will not be able to warn the others until it's too late. You may take up your positions now. I'll do the rest."
Chagai growled. "Who are you to be giving us orders, kalashtar?"
Galharath turned to look at Chagai. Through the orc's eyes, Galharath could see that his own eyes blazed with white light. He was pleased to see that the effect was quite intimidating.
Chagai stomped off to the corner of the chamber that had been assigned to him. Cathmore, however, lingered a moment.
"Be wary, Galharath," the elderly assassin said. "For most of my life, I have shared my body with my dark spirit. I know how difficult it can be to keep from becoming subsumed by power and losing one's individual identity. Make certain that it is you who controls the forge's energy, not the other way around."
With that, the old man hobbled off in the opposite direction from Chagai. Normally, Galharath would've been irritated by Cathmore's suggestion that he wasn't strong or skilled enough to maintain contol of the psi-forge, but the kalashtar was beyond such petty emotions now. Such things were a limitation of the flesh, and here, within the forge, he was pure intellect. All there was to do now was to enjoy this blissful state and wait for Diran Bastiaan and his companions to arrive, and once they had been dealt with, perhaps Galharath would take care of Cathmore and Chagai as well.
Galharath smiled, his teeth glowing from the psionic energy that surged like molten liquid through his body.
The power roiling within the psi-forge cast flickering light throughout the cavernous chamber deep within the heart of Mount Luster. Despite the fitful illumination, none of
the three present-not Cathmore, Chagai, or even Galharath-noticed a pool of thick shadow against one wall… shadow the light could not touch.
Skarm, in barghest form, huddled next to his mistress. He wished he could hide behind her, but he knew such a sign of cowardice would only incur her wrath, so he had to settle for crouching as close to her as she would allow. He understood that Nathifa's spell allowed them to see through the cloak of shadow she'd erected to conceal them, but Skarm still felt exposed. He wasn't afraid of the orc nor of the kalashtar who controlled the power of the strange creation forge. No, Skarm was afraid of the old man wrapped in the bearskin cloak who shivered as if he stood upon an open ice-field. The barghest, a creature of evil itself, could sense the foulness that dwelt within the old man, and it was a darkness to rival that of Nathifa herself.
Skarm started when Nathifa reached down with one of her skeletal hands and scratched the top of his half-goblin, half-lupine head.
"Patience, Skarm," the lich said in her sepulchral voice. "It won't be long now."
Makala swooped down to the mountain to confirm what she'd already sensed: Diran and the others had reached Cathmore's lair before her. They had left their mounts-some manner of giant flightless birds-tethered to stakes at the mountain's base and were making their way up single file along a winding trail.
Makala felt a very human wave of irritation. After leaving Diran at the lagoon and searching for half the night, she hadn't gotten here any faster than he had. She also felt a wave of shame at the thought of what she had attempted to do to him at the lagoon. She hadn't planned on using her mesmeric abilities to force Diran to forsake Asenka. It had just happened, and now there he was, and more to the point, there she was, walking right behind him. Shame instantly transformed into jealously, and the vampiress found herself dipping lower toward the party. It would be so easy to swoop down and snatch hold of Asenka's hair with her clawed feet, yanking the bitch off-balance and sending her tumbling down the mountainside. By the time Diran could reach her, she would be dead and broken, beyond healing.
