Starspawn

by Wendy N. Wagner

  Jendara sagged with relief. There was hope, then. Hope enough to ask: “How many died?”

  “At least forty,” Zuna said. “We’ll have to do a head count when we get back to Sorind.” She paused. “You just missed the captain,” she said. “He went up on deck.”

  Jendara squeezed Zuna’s shoulder, and the navigator clapped her on the back, the blow as solid as Boruc’s or any other islander’s. Then Jendara went back up top.

  She paused for a moment, thinking about how she had handled Zuna back on the island, how she had handled the entire expedition. It wasn’t the way her father would have handled things, she knew. But then again, her father had never faced anything like the thing sleeping in that pit.

  She rubbed the spot on her hand. The ancestors could only give her guidance. She had to find her own way to do things.

  It was time to find Vorrin.

  Her steps were slow as she walked to the stern of the ship. She knew where she would find him and who he would be with. She was in no hurry to face this last test.

  Vorrin leaned against the stern railing, looking out to sea. Glayn stood beside him, head bowed.

  “Hey,” she managed.

  The men looked up at her. Vorrin looked serious, and sorrow had etched itself across Glayn’s face. The happy gnome who had played the hurdy-gurdy for them when they first set out from Sorind was gone.

  A tiny speck of white swirled in the air in front of her and then settled on the railing to melt. Winter had arrived in the islands.

  “Glayn—” she began, and stopped, blinking hard. She didn’t know what to say to him.

  “Don’t,” he said. “Tam was my everything. I’m two hundred years old, and I’ve never known anyone like him, not ever. Gnomes don’t give their hearts easy, but I gave him mine.”

  The wind blew into their faces, carrying a sharp edge and the kind of snow that stings and sticks. Jendara shivered. She’d left her coat in the cabin.

  “But,” Glayn continued, “I’m still a part of this crew. And Tam wasn’t my only friend, just my best one.”

  Jendara stared at him, not quite sure whether to believe his words. He had looked at her with such misery back there in the Star Chapel. He had blamed her and resented her and maybe even hated her. But she saw none of that in the gnome’s eyes now. Sorrow, yes. Recrimination, no.

  “So what do we do now?” she asked.

  “We keep going,” Vorrin said. “We found enough treasure to take on a couple more crew. We’re sailors. We’ll find a way to make ends meet.”

  “But our cottage,” Jendara said. “Our home…”

  Glayn shook his head. “We’re sailors. Our home is right here.” He spread his hands, taking in the ship and the sea and even the clouds that spit snow into their faces. The wind ruffled his green curls and he looked a little more like himself.

  “You’re right,” Jendara agreed. She leaned her head on Vorrin’s shoulder and studied the sky. It was good to feel clean air on her skin. It was good to see sunshine, even filtered through heavy clouds. She would like to keep the sun and the clouds between herself and the sky for as long as she could.

  Because beyond the clouds, the stars were up there, someplace in the dark, turning and dancing and crying to themselves. Crying because they knew that in the darkest depths of the world, something slept and dreamed and waited.

  Waited for the stars to be right.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Massive thanks go out to the crew at Paizo. There are just too many fantastic people working there to thank properly—but I hope they know how great they are. Big hugs to James Sutter, my terrific editor, who said yes to a Lovecraftian novel and had the wicked idea to make it about Cthulhu.

  A huge shout-out to the staff of Lightspeed and Nightmare magazines, who put up with me while I worked on this book. John, Christie, Robyn, Erika, Lisa, Dana, and Melissa: you are the best! I promise I’ll be less distracted now that I’m not trying to put a starspawn back to sleep.

  This book could not have been written without the assistance of the finest writing group known to humanity: the Masked Hucksters. Thanks for helping me outline this project and wrangle all the monsters. You are the best and bravest of friends, so mask tip to you, Jen, Rebecca, and Dale.

  My family took the brunt of the madness while I summoned up this book. A big apology to Jak, for dropping the ball planning my campaign—you’re the best GM in the world, and I’m just lucky you let me hang out with you. Fiona, thanks for making all those great dinners so I could work. And John … well, there aren’t enough words to express my gratitude for your love and support.

  Last, I must thank Howard Phillips Lovecraft for gifting writers everywhere with your Mythos. I will always be in your debt.

  Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.

  GLOSSARY

  All Pathfinder Tales novels are set in the rich and vibrant world of the Pathfinder campaign setting. Below are explanations of several key terms used in this book. For more information on the world of Golarion and the strange monsters, people, and deities that make it their home, see The Inner Sea World Guide, or dive into the game and begin playing your own adventures with the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game Core Rulebook or the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game Beginner Box, all available at paizo.com.

  Absalom: Largest city in the Inner Sea region, located on an island far to the south of the Ironbound Archipelago.

  Avistan: The continent north of the Inner Sea.

  Besmara: Goddess of piracy, strife, and sea monsters.

  Boneyard: Pharasma’s realm, where all souls go to be judged after death.

  Cheliax: A powerful devil-worshiping nation located south of the Ironbound Archipelago.

  Chelish: Of or relating to the nation of Cheliax.

  Deep Ones: A race of aquatic humanoids that worship alien entities.

  Desna: Good-natured goddess of dreams, stars, travelers, and luck.

  Forest of Souls: A forested area on the Isle of Ancestors where ancestor spirits linger to support the living.

  Giants: Race of humanoids many times larger than humans.

  Gnomes: Small humanoids with brightly colored hair and strange mindsets, originally from the fey realm of the First World.

  Golarion: The planet on which the Pathfinder campaign setting focuses.

  Gozreh: God of nature, the sea, and weather. Depicted as a dual deity, with both male and female aspects.

  Great Beyond: The planes of the afterlife.

  Halgrim: Capital city of the portion of the Ironbound Archipelago controlled by the Linnorm Kings. Seat of power for the Linnorm King White Estrid.

  Inner Sea: The vast inland sea whose northern continent, Avistan, and southern continent, Garund, as well as the seas and nearby lands, are the primary focus of the Pathfinder campaign setting.

  Ironbound Archipelago: Network of cold islands off the coast of Avistan. The largest population center in the Steaming Sea, though the residents are rarely more organized than local villages. Partially independent, with the northern islands controlled by the Linnorm Kings.

  Isle of Ancestors: Island where heroes from certain islands in the Ironbound Archipelago go to commune with their ancestors and become wisewomen and shamans.

  Leng: A distant, inhospitable realm on another plane of reality, hedged in by titanic mountains and home to creatures that occasionally travel to the Material Plane to collect slaves.

  Linnorm Kings: Warrior-chieftains who together rule a nation that includes part of the Ironbound Archipelago, each of whom must defeat a linnorm to claim a throne.

  Moon-Beasts: Strange tentacle-mouthed creatures capable of controlling the minds of others.

  Ogres: Hulking, brutal, and half-witted humanoid monsters with violent tendencies, repulsive lusts, and enormous capacities for cruelty.

  Pharasma: The goddess of birth, death, and prophecy, who judges mortal souls after their deaths and sends them on to the appropriate afterlife; also known as the Lady
of Graves.

  Pharasma’s Boneyard: Pharasma’s realm.

  Seax: Type of short sword or dagger typically possessing a curved and notched blade.

  Skinwalkers: Shape-changing humanoids who can magically take on the forms or aspects of particular animals.

  Sorind: Small island in the Ironbound Archipelago, devoted mainly to farming and fishing.

  Taldane: The common trade language of the Inner Sea region.

  Trolls: Large, stooped humanoids with sharp claws and amazing regenerative powers that are overcome only by fire.

  Ulat-Kini: Race of fishlike, aquatic humanoids incapable of reproducing without human partners.

  Varisian: Of or relating to the region of the frontier region of Varisia, or a resident of that region.

  Varisians: Primarily nomadic human ethnic group often characterized as tinkers, musicians, and dancers.

  Wizards: Those who cast spells through careful study and rigorous scientific methods rather than faith or innate talent, recording the necessary incantations in a spellbook.

  Read on for a sneak peek at

  by Sam Sykes

  Available October 2016

  Copyright © 2016 Paizo Inc.

  1

  INTRODUCTIONS

  “Shaia Ratani.”

  This wasn’t how I wanted to be introduced.

  “Approach.”

  My chains rattled as I shuffled slowly across the floor on bare feet. Despite the multitudes of burning candelabra stretching down the hall on either side of me, the tattered rags I wore failed to ward off a chill. Even I hadn’t been walking the length of a hall so grand and drenched in opulence, I would have felt small.

  “That’s close enough, thief.”

  I stopped. The shackles around my wrists seemed heavy enough to pull my eyes to the ground. In the reflection of tile so polished you’d pay to eat off it, I could make out a face looking back at me, black hair hanging in greasy strands before a face covered in grime.

  My face.

  “Shaia Ratani,” a deep, elegant voice said. “You are accused of a thousand crimes against the aristocracy of Taldor, the most heinous of which include larceny, fraud, extortion, assault, assault with a deadly weapon, assault with intent to murder, unsanctioned use of poison, trespassing, public indecency…”

  I was hard pressed to think of any legends that began like this.

  “… and consorting with deviant powers.”

  Hell, I couldn’t even think of a good tavern story that began like this.

  But it was bards who were concerned with how stories began. In my line of work, you learned early on that it’s only the ending that matters.

  “You may look up, thief.”

  Bold, commanding words from a bold, commanding voice. You’d think, upon looking up, that they’d belong to a bold, commanding man.

  Those were not the first words you’d think upon seeing Lord Herevard Helsen. They might have been the thirty-second and thirty-third ones, if you were generous.

  Tall and thin as a stalk of corn and with ears to match, the aristocrat that stood upon a raised dais at the end of the hall seemed an ill fit for his fancy clothes. Hell, he seemed a poor fit for his own home.

  While his hall was bedecked with tapestries and servants standing at attention and portraits of strong men and women with strong, noble features, Herevard, with his weak chin and shrewd eyes, shifted uncomfortably. Like he could sense his ancestors’ disapproval emanating from the portraits and was already imagining what they’d say if they could see him now.

  I never knew them, but I imagined they probably wouldn’t be pleased to see a filthy Katapeshi girl in shackles dirtying up their halls.

  “Understand this, Miss Ratani.” Lord Helsen spoke down an overlarge nose at me, as though the dais he stood upon wasn’t high enough to separate us. “I have had you brought from my private dungeons at the behest of another. A mission of mercy that relies entirely on your ability to be civil. Do you understand?”

  That would have sounded significantly more authoritative, I imagined, if his face weren’t beaded with sweat. I chose not to call attention to that, though. I merely nodded and received a nod in exchange.

  Lord Helsen glanced to his side.

  “She was captured not two months ago. My guards found her robbing my study. She’s been serving penance in my dungeons ever since, my lady.”

  “Penance?”

  Another voice chimed in. A lyrical birdsong to his squawk: soft, feminine, gentle.

  I wasn’t sure how I hadn’t noticed the woman standing beside him before, but the moment she spoke, I couldn’t see anything else in the room.

  Had Lord Helsen not addressed her as ‘lady,’ I might never have guessed her to be a noble. She certainly wasn’t what you’d think of when someone mentioned the word, let alone what I’d think of. Her dress was a simple thing of white and blue linens, easy to move in and functional—two words that make aristocratic tailors cringe. Her brown hair was clean and washed, but not styled with any particular elegance. She didn’t look especially rich.

  Pretty, though.

  Or at least, she might have been. It was hard to tell, what with the massive spectacles resting upon the bridge of her nose.

  “Penance, my lady.” Lord Helsen nodded to the woman. “As you know, Yanmass’ laws are rather … archaic when it comes to crimes against the gentler class.” He chuckled. “Why, I’m told that Lady Stelvan, upon finding a vagrant in her wine cellar, appealed to the courts to have him walled up inside and—”

  “Please!” The woman held up a hand. “Er, that is, Lord Helsen, I do not need to be privy to the details.”

  “Of … of course, Lady Sidara.” Lord Helsen made a hasty, apologetic bow. “Regardless, I couldn’t let her walk away freely. Time to reflect upon her misdeeds in the dungeons seemed adequate.” He glanced back toward me. “I suspect that she will be ideal for your purposes.”

  “Purposes?”

  I hadn’t intended to sound quite so alarmed when I spoke. I hadn’t intended to speak at all. Lord Helsen hadn’t intended me to either, judging from the annoyed glare he shot me.

  “Yes, thief. Purposes.” Herevard shot me an annoyed look. I bowed my head. “The Lady Sidara has need of someone with particular … talents.”

  I nodded, head still lowered. Somehow, I figured it was going to be about this.

  The three things nobles hated most, in order, were losing money, bad wine, and being reminded they had the same needs as anyone else. No matter how big your house was or who you paid to wipe your ass, eventually, everyone needed a treasure stolen, a throat cut, or something set on fire.

  They might have used words like ‘talents,’ but nobody needed dirty work done more than a noble.

  And they didn’t come nobler than they did in Taldor.

  “She is firmly bound, my lady, and no danger at all.” Herevard gestured to me with one white-gloved hand. “You may inspect her at your leisure.”

  Lady Sidara cast him a nervous look before glancing back at me. I was, at that moment, keenly aware of every inch of grime on my skin, every ounce of weight in my chains, every tear in the raggedy shirt and trousers I wore. Something about this woman, with her drab dress and giant spectacles, made me feel naked. Vulnerable.

  Unworthy.

  Still, she wasn’t the first person to do that to me. Certainly not the worst person, either. I kept my head respectfully low, my body reassuringly still as she approached me.

  One dainty hand reached out as if to touch me, but she seemed to think better of it and drew it away. I averted my gaze as she studied me from behind those big round spectacles.

  “You’re not Taldan,” she said. “From the south, maybe?”

  “She’s Qadiran, my lady.” Lord Helsen spoke from the dais.

  I stiffened at that. My hands tightened into fists, only relaxing when Lady Sidara spoke again.

  “Not Qadiran, Herevard,” she said. “Her features are a little too fine.
” She hummed a moment before her face lit up. “Ah! Of course. You’re from Katapesh.”

  “Same thing,” Herevard yawned.

  Still, I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. Not a lot of people from Taldor appreciated the difference between us southern nations, let alone a noble.

  “You poor dear,” she said, eyeing the sorry state of my dress and hygiene. “Listen. I know this might seem … unorthodox. It certainly wasn’t my first choice. But I have … an issue.” She glanced around, as though wary of who might be listening. “An issue that Herevard said you might be able to help with.”

  I cast her a sidelong look, but said nothing. As if embarrassed, she turned away and readjusted her spectacles.

  “I can’t give you the details here,” she said. “Nor can I promise it will be easy. But I can promise you’ll be adequately rewarded. I’ll see you safely exonerated of your crimes and granted a handsome sum, besides, in exchange for your assistance.” She drew herself up, fixed me with a hard look. “Of this, you have my word, Miss Ratani.”

  Funny how words, common as they were, seemed to mean an awful lot to some people. Nobles and their heritages, wizards and their spells, paladins and their oaths—words meant a lot to the kind of person who woke up one day and heard a higher calling.

  I once heard that calling.

  Then I put the pillow over my head and went back to sleep.

  People like me, we don’t put much stock in words. We know how cheap they are. We know how quickly they spin on glib tongues and how swiftly they scatter on the floor. People like me, we needed firmer stuff.

  “I know this must sound odd,” Lady Sidara said. “Is there … is there anything I can get you? To help you make up your mind?”

  I took a breath and spoke softly.

  “A drink.”

  Lady Sidara nodded and made a gesture to Herevard. Herevard, in turn, gestured to a nearby servant. The servant ran to a table set up against one of the hall’s walls and, in a few moments, came rushing up to me with a goblet upon a tray. I took it, nodded my gratitude, first to him and then to her. I closed my eyes and took a long, slow sip of cold, refreshing liquid.