by Tim Waggoner
As if reading her mind, Tresslar said, “It’s a minor spell. It encompasses me—and anyone standing within a few feet of me—inside a pocket of warm air. It doesn’t neutralize the cold by any means, but it should keep us from freezing. I’ve cast a somewhat similar spell on the entire vessel. That’s what’s keeping ice from forming on the deck right now. Standard stuff, really.”
Asenka stood next to Tresslar and immediately felt even warmer. The artificer might be overly humble of his accomplishments, but there was no denying his skill.
“How far behind are your people?” Tresslar asked.
Asenka reached inside her cloak and beneath her tunic. She wrapped her fingers around the scorpion medallion that hung from her neck, closed her eyes, and concentrated. All the Sea Scorpions wore similar medallions. They didn’t permit full telepathic contact, but they did allow their wearers to gain a sense of the others’ approximate location.
Asenka opened her eyes and removed her hand from the medallion. “Not close enough. We’ll arrive at Demothi Island two hours before the rest of the Scorpions join us.”
The Sea Scorpions’ vessel, the Water Dragon, was a well-made craft and swifter than the Coldhearts’ Maelstrom, but she had only minor magical alterations to increase her speed and durability—nothing like what the Zephyr possessed. The best the crew of the Maelstrom could do was sail full out and catch up when they could. At least the winds were strong this night.
Asenka went on. “The big question is, will we intercept the Coldhearts before they reach the island?”
Hinto responded. “They left Perhata a half hour or so before we did. At our current rate of speed—and given that they’re sailing an ordinary ship …” He paused and looked up at the stars, as if doing a quick mental calculation. “It’ll be close. If we don’t catch up to them before they reach the island, we’ll get there soon after.”
“You sound like someone who knows what he’s talking about,” Asenka said.
Hinto turned to the Sea Scorpion commander and smiled. “I was born aboard a ship. I’ve spent more time with my feet on a deck than I have on dry land.”
Asenka nodded, accepting Hinto’s assessment.
“What’s so awful about Demothi Island?” Tresslar said. “It must be a particularly nasty place for Haaken to take Diran and Ghaji there instead of just killing them outright.”
“That it is,” Asenka said. “It’s the most terrible place in the Gulf of Ingjald, perhaps in all the Principalities.”
Tresslar snorted. “No offense, but during my youth I traveled the length and breadth of the Principalities. These waters contain more darkness than you could possibly imagine.”
Asenka bristled at first, but from the artificer’s tone it was clear that he wasn’t trying to belittle her but simply state what he saw as fact. “Demothi Island is dark enough. According to legend, almost a thousand years ago an evil priest named Nerthach, a worshipper of the Keeper, traveled to the island and cast a massive spell to raise all those who’d died in the gulf. His motivation for doing so is unclear. Some say he wished to create an army so that he could conquer and rule, while others say he wished to let lose a plague of undead upon the region in honor of the dark god he worshipped. Still others say that he was simply mad. Whatever the reason, Nerthach cast his spell, and it succeeded, but not in the way he intended. Nerthach was transformed into a black-rock statue that stands in the center of the island. This statue possesses two large ebon gems for eyes, and it radiates an evil power that resurrects anyone who dies in the waters of the Gulf of Ingjald. The living dead gather in the waters offshore of Demothi, and when anyone is foolish enough—or unfortunate enough—to make landfall on the island, the undead rise forth from the sea to slay them.”
Hinto’s eyes widened after hearing Asenka’s tale and he trembled. Tresslar appeared unmoved, though she thought perhaps his face was bit paler than it had been.
“That’s quite a story,” the artificer said.
“It’s more than that. While no one in his right mind would approach Demothi Island, in the past I had cause to sail nearby once. I peered at the island through a gem of long-seeing and …” She trailed off. “Let’s just say that I saw the legend was true.”
“So you think Haaken plans to maroon Diran and Ghaji there?” Tresslar said. “On an island full of undead?”
Asenka nodded grimly. “I’m sure of it.”
Chagai found Cathmore and Galharath on the middle level of the psi-forge facility. This level contained the workshops where once psi-forged parts had been designed, built, and then assembled before imbuing the humanoid constructs with life. When House Cannith had abandoned the facility, they’d removed most of the materials in order to reuse them in other projects, so the workshops on this level were mostly empty, but Chagai’s employer and his kalashtar assistant were here—along with a surprise. Inside one workshop, lying upon a table under Cathmore and Galharath’s watchful eyes, was a construct whose body was covered with multicolored crystals.
As Chagai entered the workshop, he said, “Is that what I think it is?”
Cathmore nodded without taking his gaze off the creature on the table. “It is indeed. This is Solus, the only psi-forged this facility produced before it was shut down. As a matter of fact, he’s the reason the facility was abandoned.” Cathmore proceeded to tell Ghaji about how he and Galharath had discovered Solus, and what they’d learned about the psi-forged so far.
Chagai wasn’t sure what to make of Cathmore’s tale. As far as he was concerned, warforged were nothing more than ambulatory weapons, like a sword with legs and arms. They weren’t alive, but if what Cathmore said was true, this creature had somehow absorbed the souls of the four living beings responsible for its creation. The idea was repugnant to Chagai. Orcs lived close to nature, and this monstrosity was about as far away from natural as it was possible to get.
“How was your trip to Perhata?” Galharath asked. “Did you find what you were looking for?” The smirk on the kalashtar’s face said he already had a good idea how Chagai’s journey had turned out. Chagai hated working with a telepath.
“I found who I was looking for. It was Ghaji.” The orc turned to Cathmore. “You were right. Diran Bastiaan travels with him.”
Cathmore’s head swiveled toward Chagai with an almost audible snap. “You are certain of this?”
“I am.”
A cold gleam came into Cathmore’s eyes, and though he was a weak old man whom Chagai could slay with a single blow, the orc mercenary nevertheless felt a stab of fear upon seeing the master assassin’s gaze.
“Excellent.” Cathmore practically hissed the word. “You didn’t harm them, did you?”
Galharath laughed. “Are you jesting? Chagai engaged the half-orc in battle, but he broke off and fled before he could get himself killed.”
Rage flooded Chagai, and he reached for his sword. “The kalashtar lies! I simply wished to warn Ghaji that I was going to be coming for him.” He glared at Galharath. “Had I wanted to slay Ghaji, I would have done so.”
Chagai knew this last statement was a boast, a fact he was sure Galharath was well aware of, but if the kalashtar said anything more, Chagai intended to draw his blade and see which was swifter: his sword-arm or Galharath’s mind.
The kalashtar’s eyes narrowed, as if he were gauging the seriousness of Chagai’s intent. He must’ve been convinced, because Galharath held his tongue—for a change.
If Cathmore noticed the exchange between his two associates, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Good, good.” He gazed once more upon Solus and placed one of his vulture-claw hands upon the creature’s chest. “I think it would be prudent of us to put our new friend’s abilities to the test. Galharath, can you manipulate Solus’s mind so that he will do my bidding?”
The kalashtar thought for a moment. “Constructs don’t have minds in the way you’re thinking of. In some ways this makes them simpler to manipulate, but in other ways it’s more difficult. As strong as he
is, I won’t be able to place him permanently under your control—at least not until I’ve had a chance to study him further—but I might be able to implant a suggestion within his mind that will allow you to command him for a short while. It will take some time for me to do, however.”
Chagai’s upper lip curled in disgust. He hated it when Galharath went on like that, mostly because he never had any idea what the kalashtar was talking about.
Cathmore seemed to understand, for he smiled. “That should do nicely, Galharath, thank you.” The elderly assassin leaned down until his mouth was closed to the tiny opening in the side of Solus’s head that served as one of the psi-forged’s ears. “I’d like to introduce you to a former student of mine, Solus, and to an old friend of Chagai’s as well.”
Chagai saw what Cathmore had in mind, and he bared his sharp teeth in a mirthless smile.
Haaken stood at the bow of the Maelstrom, hands gripping the railing. The ship’s prow cut through the water, sending up showers of sea spray that quickly froze into a thin coating of ice that clung to Haaken’s cloak and beard, but the commander of the Coldhearts didn’t feel the cold. Instead he felt a mixture of elation and trepidation as the black shape of Demothi Island hove into view.
“Captain?”
Despite himself, Haaken jumped, and inwardly cursed himself for it.
“What is it, Barah?” Haaken barked.
The woman who served as Haaken’s second in command took a half-step back, nearly slipping on the ice coating the deck, as Haaken turned to face her.
“The crew is starting to become … concerned, Commander. They’re curious to know just how close we’re going to come to the island.”
Haaken understood his people’s fear, for he shared it, but as their commander, he couldn’t tolerate weakness—not even in himself. “As close as necessary to put our two prisoners ashore, Barah.” He hoped that would settle the matter, and ordinarily it might have, but this wasn’t some raid on a Perhatan merchant vessel. They were approaching the dreaded isle of the undead.
“And, uh, just precisely how close is that, Captain?”
Haaken should’ve backhanded Barah for questioning him, but considering the situation, he decided to allow her insolence to slide this time. “There’s no need for us to make landfall. We can lash together some wooden planks to make a crude raft. We can then put the priest and the half-orc on it and give them a shove toward the shore. The tide should do the rest. Start some of the crew working on the raft.”
Barah looked relieved that they wouldn’t be going ashore. “Yes, Captain. Thank you, Captain.” Holding fast to the railing, Barah headed off to get work started on the raft.
After staring at the dark mass of Demothi Island for a few more moments, Haaken could no longer bear the sight of the cursed place. When he’d first conceived of his plan to maroon the priest and the half-orc there, it had seemed wickedly appropriate. An entire island of undead creatures would be more than any priest could handle, but now that the Maelstrom approached the island, Haaken was having second thoughts. He’d never been this close to Demothi before, and while it might be his imagination, the closer the ship drew to the island, the more he thought he could sense an atmosphere of almost tangible evil emanating from it.
Haaken decided to go check on his prisoners and see if the amber sleep had worn off yet. He hoped so. He wanted both of them awake and fully aware when the raft carried them to Demothi’s shore.
“Ho, there! You two bilge worms awake? We’ve almost reached Demothi Island!”
Haaken was halfway down the ladder that led to the hold when he heard something whsssk toward him. Fiery pain erupted in his left earlobe, and he reached up instinctively to touch his wound. His fingers felt sticky blood, and that’s when Haaken realized he no longer had a left earlobe.
“Nice shot,” Ghaji said.
“Hardly,” Diran replied. “I was aiming for his carotid. These glass fragments don’t make for the most aerodynamic weapons.”
Haaken hadn’t brought a lantern with him, and he couldn’t see anything in the hold, but framed as he was by the open hatch above him, not to mention the stars and moons beyond, he was a perfect target. He scrambled back up the ladder just as another glass fragment hit his shoulder. He felt the impact but no cutting pain, and he guessed his heavy cloak had turned away the glass shard. If that had been one of the priest’s daggers, he’d be in serious trouble right now.
Haaken wasn’t certain how his two prisoners had gotten free of the bonds nor where they’d come by the glass fragments the priest was hurling in lieu of knives. He intended to reach the deck and slam the hatch door shut and lock it before the priest and the half-orc could escape, but as he neared the top, he felt the ladder jerk, and he knew that someone, probably the half-orc, was coming up after him. Haaken tried to move faster, but his body was numb from the cold, and his limbs were sluggish. He was only partway out of the hatch when a strong hand gripped his boot and pulled.
Haaken nearly fell back into the hold, but he grabbed hold of the deck, raised his other foot and stomped down hard on the half-orc’s hand. He heard Ghaji bellow more in frustration than pain, and then the half-orc released his grip on Haaken’s boot, and the Coldheart commander was able to pull himself the rest of the way onto the deck.
Haaken spun, intending to slam the hatch, but as he reached for it, Ghaji’s hand lunged out of the open hatchway, holding a broken wine bottle by the neck. Upon seeing the broken bottle, Haaken felt a surge of anger. That bottle had come from his personal stock, a rare vintage from Sarlona. The Coldhearts had slaughtered an entire shipload of Sarlonan merchants to get it! His rage was soon replaced by pain as Ghaji rammed the jagged edge into Haaken’s sword hand. Haaken howled as broken glass sliced through his flesh and bit into the bone beneath. He yanked his hand away from the hatch and shoved it inside his cloak to staunch the blood.
“Coldhearts!” he shouted as he shoved himself backward, away from the hatch. “To me!”
The wind was blowing strong, and Haaken wasn’t sure that his people had heard him. He was about to yell again when Ghaji leaped onto the deck and came at him, wielding the broken wine bottle like a knife.
“You have good taste in wine, Haaken. It nearly broke my heart to pour it out so we could use the bottles, though I admit we saved a few swallows for ourselves.”
Ghaji leaned down and swung the broken bottle at Haaken’s throat, but the Coldheart commander managed to deflect the blow with his forearm. Haaken followed by bringing a knee up and ramming it into the half-orc’s gut. Breath whooshed out of Ghaji, and Haaken shoved him back.
Haaken knew Ghaji wouldn’t be off-balance for long, and he shoved himself to his feet and started to run. Unfortunately, the deck remained coated with ice and his boots slid out from under him. He landed back-first onto the deck, and now it was his turn to have the wind knocked out of him. As he struggled to draw in air, he looked back toward the hatch and saw that Diran had emerged from the hold and was helping Ghaji to his feet.
Haaken felt a wave of frustration. He couldn’t pull in enough air to shout for his people again, and he wouldn’t be able to get up in time to defend himself against Diran and Ghaji. A few more seconds, and it would all be over …
“Don’t move!”
Haaken looked up and saw Barah coming toward the hatch, three other Coldhearts in tow. They held their swords in one hand while holding onto the starboard railing with the other to keep from sliding on the ice-coated deck. Haaken had to admit they didn’t make the most intimidating attack force approaching like that, but he was glad to see them just the same. The deck would prove just as slippery for the priest and half-orc, and they didn’t have real weapons. They couldn’t hope to stand against his people!
He turned to watch Diran and Ghaji’s reaction and saw the priest reach into his sleeve and withdraw several shards of glass. His hands blurred as he hurled the makeshift weapons, and Barah’s mouth opened wide to scream, but all that emerge
d was a wet gurgle followed by a spray of blood. A shard was embedded in her throat. Diran managed to strike the other two as well: one in the throat and the second in the eye. Barah fell to the deck, as did the two Coldhearts who’d had the misfortune to join her.
For the first time since meeting Diran Bastiaan that afternoon at the King Prawn, Haaken wondered if it wouldn’t have been better if he’d swallowed his pride and just walked away.
Haaken was finally able to fill his lungs, and he put every ounce of air into shouting. “Coldhearts! To arms!”
He didn’t wait to see if his cry for help had been heard. He slid himself starboard across the deck toward Barah. Her eyes were wide and staring, and though her body still twitched, Haaken knew she was dead, or close enough to it to make no difference, but right now he wasn’t interested in mourning her loss. He was more interested in using her body as a shield against Diran’s glass shards. He slid around behind her and propped her up using his wounded hand. It hurt likes blazes, but he needed his free hand to defend himself against Ghaji. He drew a dagger from his sheath, hunkered down behind the still-twitching form of his second in command, and waited for whatever would happen next.
Diran had been aiming for the throats of the three Coldhearts, and he would’ve considered himself lucky if he’d managed to take out even one of them, given how difficult the glass shards were to throw. He knew he had the Silver Flame to thank for all three of the Coldhearts going down—that or sheer dumb luck.
