The War of the Lance t2-3

by Margaret Weis

  "And so?" Stel prompted irritably.

  "It's time you tell us why we are sailing to this location in the middle of the deepest part of the Blood Sea. There are rumors circulating among the crew and as each rumor grows, they, in turn, become more uneasy." Kruug snorted, wiping sea spray from his massive jaw. "We find it most interesting that a priest of Chemosh has spent so much time paying homage to the Sea Queen that it seems he has forgotten his own god!"

  The dreadwolf snarled, its pupil-less eyes narrowed. Stel petted it.

  "You are being paid well, captain. Too well for you to ask questions. And I would think that you would approve of my efforts to appease the Sea Queen. Is she not deserving of respect, especially now? We are in her domain. I give her tribute as she deserves."

  Vandor Grizt's heart sank. My luck has become like a pouch filled with coin… all lead!

  Kruug apparently did not trust Stel's smooth words. He snorted his disdain, but glanced around uneasily. A creature of the sea, the captain had to be more careful than most in maintaining a respectful relationship with the tempestuous Sea Queen.

  The storm worsened. The sea mist that drenched all save the cleric was accompanied by a light sprinkle, a harbinger of the torrential downpour to come. Lightning and thunder broke overhead.

  "You had better pray that Zeboim has listened to you, prefect," the minotaur retorted. "Else I shall appease her by throwing you and your stinking mutt over the side. My ship and my crew come first." He grumbled at no one in particular. "It's easy for the Highlord to agree to mad plots when he's safe in his chambers back on shore! He isn't the one who'll suffer, just the one who'll reap the benefits!"

  Stel smiled unpleasantly. "You were given a choice, Kruug. Sail with me or surrender the TAURON to a BRAVER captain who would."

  Kruug growled, but he backed down.

  For one of Kruug's race, the choice was no choice at all. No minotaur dared let himself be thought a coward.

  Stel looked past the captain, who turned to see what had the cleric's attention. Vandor — tied to one of the masts — was unable to turn around, but he knew from the clanking sounds that the draconians must be returning from their excursion below deck. The two draconians dragged forward a peculiar metal bowl on three legs. Captain Kruug glared at the kapak.

  "And I'll throw those lizards over, too, especially the one who can't keep his mouth shut!" Kruug added. "If he burns one more hole through the deck…" But the minotaur was being ignored. Seeking a target on which to vent his frustration, Kruug glanced down at Vandor, who suddenly sought a way to shrink into the mast. The minotaur's smile vied with that of the dreadwolf for number of huge, sharp teeth. "And maybe I'll throw this piece of offal over right now!"

  "Touch him, my homed friend, and your first mate finds himself promoted." Stel was deadly, coldly serious.

  Kruug was taken aback. "What's so special about this thieving little fox?"

  "Him?" Stel glanced at Vandor. "By himself, he is worthless."

  Despite his predicament, Vandor was offended.

  "It is his blood I find invaluable," Stel continued.

  Vandor was no longer offended… he was too busy trying to recall the proper prayers for Shinare. If he'd had any doubt before as to his fate, that doubt was gone now.

  "I do not understand," replied the captain.

  Stel looked down at the skull on the chain. "In a few minutes, Captain Kruug, you AND Vandor Grizt will understand. We are nearing our destination. Please have your crew prepare to stop this vessel."

  "In this deep water, our anchor won't hold!" Kruug protested.

  "We do not need to be completely still. Just make certain we stay within the region. I think you can manage that, captain. I was TOLD that you are an expert at your craft."

  Kruug bridled. "I've been sailing these waters — "

  A crackle of thunder drowned out whatever the minotaur said after that, but the fury on his face and the speed with which he departed the vicinity of Prefect Stel spoke plainly. Vandor Grizt was sorry to see the captain leave. Of all Vandor's unsavory companions, the minotaur captain was the only one who seemed to share his fear. Kruug was merely carrying out orders and with a lack of enthusiasm that Vandor dismally appreciated.

  The draconians set up the altar quickly despite the constant rocking of the ship. They lashed the legs of the metal monstrosity to various areas of the deck, assuring that the huge bowl would remain in place regardless of how rough the sea. When the draconians were finished, the two stumbled back to Stel, who seemed to have no trouble moving about, unlike everyone else.

  "The sea grows no calmer, prefect!" hissed the sivak. "Despite your prayers to the Sea Queen, the ropes may not hold!"

  "She will listen!" Stel declared. "I have sought her good will for three days now. We dare not attempt this without the Sea Queen's favor. We dare not steal from her domain!" Stel paused, considering. He glanced at Vandor Grizt, then again at the draconians. "I will have to give an offering of greater value than I had supposed. Something that will prove to Zeboim my respect for her majesty! Something that will acknowledge her precedence over all else in this endeavor! It will have to be now!"

  "Now?" snarled the kapak, surprised. "But now is the time for your evening devotions to Chemosh, prefect!"

  "Chemosh will understand." Stel turned again to Vandor and pointed. "Unbind him!"

  As the draconians undid his bonds, Vandor tried to slip free of them. For a brief moment, he escaped, but then the dreadwolf was in front of him, ready to spring. Vandor's terrified moment of hesitation was sufficient time to permit the draconians to reestablish their hold on him.

  "Bring him to the altar!" Stel commanded.

  The draconians dragged Vandor Grizt across the wet deck to the odd-looking bowl that Stel had identified as an altar.

  "Master Stel, surely I am not a proper sacrifice!" Vandor protested. "Have you considered that I am hardly a worthwhile present to be given to one so illustrious as beautiful, wondrous Zeboim!"

  "Silence the buffoon," the cleric muttered in a voice much less commanding than normal. Stel's dark eyes turned on the dreadwolf that had been guarding Vandor. At the silent command, the undead animal joined its master. Prefect Stel returned his attention to the prisoner.

  "Hold out his arm. The left one."

  Vandor struggled, but his strength was nothing compared to that of the draconians.

  The servant of Chemosh removed a twisted, bejewelled dagger from within his robe. Vandor Grizt recognized it — a sacrificial knife. He had even sold a few. None had ever been so intricate in detail… or looked so deadly in purpose.

  Stel brought the dagger down lightly on Grizt's outstretched arm. The tip of the blade pricked his skin and drew blood. Muttering under his breath, Stel cut a tiny slit in his captive's forearm. It was painful, to be sure, but Vandor had suffered far more pain at the hands of city guards. A tiny trail of blood dripped slowly down the side of his arm and into the round interior of the altar bowl. The blood struck the bottom and sizzled away with a hiss. The metal began to radiate heat. Vandor swallowed, fearing what would happen if his flesh touched the hot metal.

  Removing the blood-covered blade, Stel looked down at the dreadwolf, which stared back with sightless, dead eyes.

  The cleric turned to face the sea. "Zeboim, you who are also known as the Sea Queen, hear me! I give you some thing of great value, something that will prove my humble respect for your power! I give you a part of me!" The black cleric drove the dagger into the skull of his pet, not ceasing until the hilt was touching the bone.

  The wolf howled in fierce pain and anger. Several of the minotaur crewmen looked their way. Vandor Grizt pulled his arm back from the hot metal. The two draconians had loosened their hold on him in their shock over the cleric's act.

  The servant of Chemosh removed the dagger from the head of his dreadwolf. The monstrosity collapsed the moment the blade was no longer touching it. The dead creature crumbled, becoming ash in the space o
f a few breaths. Vandor Grizt, looking up at his captor, saw the cleric's hands shake. Prefect Stel gave all the appearances of a man who has just cut off his own hand.

  A muttering rose among the minotaurs. The stomping of heavy feet warned Vandor and his captors that Captain Kruug was returning.

  "Prefect Stel! What in the name of Sargonnas have you done now? I will not risk my ship in this venture any more, threats or no — "

  Stel raised his free hand and silenced the captain. He looked out at the sea in expectation.

  For a short time, Vandor Grizt, like the rest, saw nothing out of the ordinary. The sea was calm and the storm clouds near motionless. The Blood Sea was as calm as a sleeping child.

  Then it struck Vandor that this was out of ordinary.

  The sea had calmed, the storm had ceased… with a suddenness that could only be called DIVINE in nature.

  "Shinare…" Vandor whispered, once more wishing he had been just a little more consistent with his praying.

  Moving a bit unsteadily, Prefect Stel turned on the sea captain. "You were about to say, Kruug?"

  It is not often that a minotaur can be taken aback by events, but Kruug was. The beastman swallowed hard and stared at the cleric with awe and not a little fear.

  "I thought as much." Stel said, evilly smiling. "We are almost over the exact location, captain. I suggest you and your crew bring us to as dead a stop as you can."

  "Aye," Kruug replied, nodding all the while. He whirled about and started shouting at the other minotaurs, taking out his fear and shame on his crew.

  Stel turned to Vandor. The cleric smiled. "It is as I hoped. Your blood is the key. She has heard us. She has given us her favor."

  "My blood? Key?" Vandor babbled.

  "Oh, yes, Vandor Grizt, petty thief and purveyor of purloined properties, your blood! Can't you hear the voices?" The deep, black eyes behind the mask widened in anticipation. "Can't you hear them calling you?"

  "Who?" Vandor gasped.

  "Your ancestors," Stel said, looking at the sea.

  "Prefect 1" The kapak was spluttering with fear. A tiny bit of acidic saliva splattered Vandor on the cheek. He flinched in pain, but there was nothing he could do with his arms pinned. "Prefect, you sacrificed the Dreadwolf!"

  "It was necessary. Chemosh will understand. Zeboim has to be placated. This venture is too important."

  "But the dreadwolf… it was bound to you by your lord!"

  Stel's destruction of his ungodly pet had evidently taken much out of him and the kapak's reminder was only stirring the pain. If what the draconian said was true, then the prefect had wantonly destroyed a gift from his god in order to gain the favor of the Sea Queen.

  A costly venture this, Vandor thought fearfully.

  The skull mask made its wearer look like the embodiment of death itself. Stel's voice was so steady, so toneless, that both Vandor and the draconians shrank back in alarm.

  "We are in the Sea Queen's domain. Even my lord Chemosh must be respectful of that. It is by his power that this task will be done, but it is by HER sufferance that we survive it!"

  The skull necklace flared brighter, so bright that the two draconians and Vandor were forced to look away.

  Stel shouted, "Captain Kruug! This is the position! No farther!"

  The minotaur dropped anchor; the vessel slowed, but continued to drift, giving Vandor a brief hope. But, the minotaurs turned the vessel about and slowly brought it back.

  "Still a short time left," Stel whispered. In a louder, more confident voice, he asked, "Do you hear them, Vandor Grizt? Do you hear your ancestors calling you?"

  Vandor, who could not trace his ancestors past his barely-remembered parents, heard nothing except bellowing minotaurs and the lightest breeze in the rigging. He refrained from responding however. The answer might mean life… or death. He needed to know a bit more to make the correct choice.

  "You don't, do you?" Stel frowned. "But you will. Your blood is the true blood, child of Kingpriests."

  "Kingpriests? Me?" Vandor stared blankly at his captor.

  "Yes, Kingpriests." Stel toyed with the dagger and stared off at the becalmed sea. "It took me quite some time to find you, thanks to your nomadic lifestyle. I knew that I would not fail at what I undertook. I was the one who found the ancient temple, who understood what others of my order did not."

  "You have me completely at a loss, Master Stel," Vandor quavered. "You say I am a descendent of the Kingpriests?" As he asked, Vandor shivered uncontrollably. He remembered suddenly what legend said lay at the bottom of the Blood Sea.

  Istar… the holy city brought down by the conceit of its lord, the Kingpriest. In the blackest depths of the Blood Sea lay the ruins of the holy city… and the rest of the ancient country for that matter.

  "Of direct descent." Stel touched the blazing skull. "This charm marks you as such, as it marks where the great temples… and storehouses… of Istar sank. The spells I cast upon it make it drawn to all things — including people — that possess a strong affinity with Istar. The charm was carved out of a stone from the very temple where I found the records, duplicates preserved by the magic of the zealous acolytes of the Kingpriest. Preserved but forgotten, for those who had stored them there either perished with the city or abandoned the place after their homeland was no more."

  "Please, Master Stel." Vandor hoped for more information, though he had no idea what good it could do him. "What great wonder did these records hold that would make you search for one as unworthy as myself?"

  Stel chuckled — a raspy, grating sound. "During the last days of Istar, the Kingpriest persecuted and murdered many such as myself. The clerics of good stole many objects of evil from the bodies of clerics of Takhisis, Sargonnas, Morgion, Chemosh. The fools who followed the Kingpriest either could not destroy these powerful artifacts… or found them too tempting to destroy, just in case they could find uses for them."

  Vandor Grizt almost laughed aloud. It was too absurd. He knew how easily such rumors got started. He'd created a few himself in order to sell his wares. The Knights of Solamnia were rumored to have once stored such evil clerical items, but no one had ever actually SEEN one. A REAL one, that is. Still, the cleric did not seem a man who would be chasing after… ghosts.

  A thought occurred to Vandor Grizt. "I am certain, Master Stel, that you must have been pleased to find records of your stolen property. But if that property is at the bottom of the sea…"

  The cleric looked knowingly at Vandor. "Of course, I knew that the treasures I sought — the talismans of my predecessors — were out of my reach. Even a necromancer such as myself could not summon the ancients of Istar. Their tomb lies buried deep beneath the sea; they do not dwell in my lord's domain. But, if I use the blood of kin — however many generations distant — I might be able to summon these dead."

  Vandor Grizt was skeptical. "If I am related to the… um… Kingpriests, how did you find me?"

  "I told you I will permit nothing to remain beyond my grasp. I followed the pull of the skull talisman, traveling through land after land until it led me to you in Takar. You are as great a charlatan — in your own way — as your ancestors. It was simple to trap you."

  The sivak draconian laughed.

  "Now," Stel continued, "we are almost at the end of my quest. There is one item in particular — relic of Chemosh — that I have sought ever since I discovered its existence. A pendant on a chain, it may be the most powerful talisman ever created, an artifact that can raise a legion of the undying to serve the wearer!"

  The image of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of undead warriors marching over the countryside was enough to sink even Vandor's jaded heart.

  Stel grimaced. "Do not think that I will neglect the other treasures, though. I will be able to pick and choose! I will wield power like no other!"

  The familiar stomping that marked Captain Kruug's coming sent a shiver through Vandor.

  "We're as steady as we can be, Prefect Stel! If you're going
to do anything, do it now!"

  Stel looked up into the eerie night sky. "Yes, the time is close enough, I think." To the draconians, he barked, "Stretch the fool's arm over the altar!"

  Shinare! Vandor tried praying again, but he kept forgetting the proper words and losing his place in the ritual.

  "Blood calls blood, Vandor Grizt," murmured Stel.

  "Surely, my blood is so tainted by lesser lines that it would hardly be worth anything to you!" Vandor squirmed desperately.

  The draconians seemed to find this statement amusing. Stel shook his masked head, touched the glowing skull.

  "Your blood has already proven itself. For you, that means a reward. When the time comes, I will kill you in as swift and painless a fashion as I can."

  Vandor did not thank him for his kindness.

  Stel raised his dagger high and intoned, "Great Sea Queen, you who guide us now, without whom this deed could not be done, I humbly ask in the name of my lord Chemosh for this boon…"

  Vandor Grizt heard nothing else. His eyes could not leave the dagger.

  The blade came down.

  Vandor flinched and cried out in pain, but in what seemed a reenactment of the first ritual, the cleric of Chemosh pricked the skin of Vandor's arm and reopened the long wound. Vandor gasped in relief.

  Blood dripped into the altar. Stel muttered something.

  At first, Vandor neither felt nor heard anything out of the ordinary. Then, slowly, every hair on his head came to life. A deep, inexplicable sense of horror gripped him. Someone was speaking his name from beyond the minotaur ship!

  "Come!" Stel hissed. "Blood calls!"

  Vandor trembled. The draconians dug their claws into his arms. The minotaurs, who generally grumbled at everything, paused at what they were doing and watched and waited silently.

  The waters around the Tauron stirred. Something was rising to the surface.

  Shinare? Vandor Grizt prayed frantically.

  "Answer them!" Prefect Stel hissed again, beckoning. "You cannot resist the blood!"

  To Vandor's dismay, he saw a ghostly, helmed head rising above the rail. "B-blessed Shinare! I implore you! I will honor you twice… no!.. four times a day!"