But how to speak with one? Norrec wondered if the armor could withstand being on holy ground. Could it be so simple as walking past a church and then throwing himself onto its steps? Would he be able to do even that much?
For a desperate man, it seemed worth the try. The armor needed him alive and relatively well; that alone might give him just enough of an opportunity. At the very least, Norrec had to try for the sake of not only his life, but his soul, too.
He finished his meal, then quickly downed what remained of the ale. During that time, the serving girl came back more than once to see if he needed anything, a clear sign that he had been very generous in his tipping. Norrec gave her one of the smaller coins remaining to him, which caused her smile to somehow grow even wider than before, then he casually asked her about some of the sights of the city.
"There's the arena, of course," the girl, Miram, replied quickly, no doubt having been asked this question more than once by newcomers. "And the palace, too! You must see the palace!" Her eyes took on a dreaming look. "Jerhyn, the sultan, lives there…"
This Jerhyn evidently had to be a handsome and fairlyyoung man judging from Miram's rapt expression. While the sultan's palace surely had to be an intriguing sight, it had not been what he had been searching for. "And besides that?"
"There's also the Aragos Theater near the square with the Cathedral of Tomas the Repentant across from it, but the Zakarum priests only allow visitors at midday and the theater is being repaired. Oh! There's the races on the far north side of the city, horses and dogs—"
Norrec ceased listening, the information he had needed now his. If holy ground or Heaven had any power over the demonic legacy of Bartuc, then this cathedral offered the best hope. The Zakarum Church represented the most powerful order on either side of the Twin Seas.
"— and some old folk and scholars like the ruins of the Vizjerei temple outside the city walls, though there's not much to see any more after the Great Sandstorm…"
"Thank you, Miram. That's good enough." He prepared to leave, already trying to think of some roundabout method by which to approach the vicinity of the Zakarum site.
Four figures in the now familiar garb of Lut Gholein's Guard stepped into Atma 's, but their interest in the tavern had nothing to do with drink. Instead, they looked directly at Norrec, their countenances darkening. He could almost swear that they knew exactly who he was.
With military precision that Norrec would have at other times admired, the foursome spread out, eliminating any hope of bypassing them on the way to the front entrance. Although they had not yet drawn their long, curved swords, each guard kept a hand near the hilt. One wrong action by Norrec and all four blades would come flying out, ready to cut him down.
Pretending to be not at all concerned, the wary fighter turned back to the serving girl, asking, "There's a friend Ineed to meet in a place located in the street behind this tavern. Do you have another exit in the back?"
"There's one that way." She started to point, but he gently took her hand, dropping another coin in it.
"Thank you, Miram." Gently pushing past her, Norrec moved as if heading toward the counter for one last drink. The four guards hesitated.
Halfway to the counter, he veered toward the back doorway.
Although he could not see them now, Norrec felt certain that the men knew his intentions. He picked up his pace, hoping to reach the exit as quickly as possible. Once out, he could try to lose himself among the growing throngs.
Norrec pushed the door wide, immediately darting through-
— and came to an abrupt halt as rough, strong hands seized him by both arms, holding him fast.
"Resist and it will go the worse for you, westerner!" snapped a swarthy guard with gold tabs on his cloak. He peered past Norrec, saying, "You have done your work well! This is the one! We will take it from here!"
The four who had pursued Norrec from inside stepped past the prisoner, pausing only to salute the officer in charge before wandering off. Norrec grimaced, realizing that he had walked into the most basic of traps.
He had no idea as to the intentions of his captors, but at the moment, they interested him far less than the question as to why Bartuc's armor had not reacted. Surely this situation called for something from it, but so far it seemed unwilling to try to free its host. Why?
"Pay attention, westerner!" the officer came close to slapping Norrec, but finally lowered his hand. "Come peacefully and you will not be mistreated! Resist…" The man's hand now slipped to the hilt of his curved sword, his meaning quite clear.
Norrec nodded his understanding. If the armor chose not to resist, he certainly had no intention of trying to fight himself free of this armed patrol.
His captors formed a square of sorts, with their leader in front and Norrec, of course, in the middle. The party headed down the street, away from the larger crowds. Several curious folk watched the procession, but no one seemed at all sympathetic to the foreigner's troubles. Likely they figured that there were always more outsiders, so what difference the loss of one?
No one had as of yet explained exactly for what reason Norrec had been arrested, but he had to assume it had something to do with the Hawksfire 's arrival. Perhaps he had been wrong when he had thought that no watch had been set at the port. Perhaps Lut Gholein kept a more wary eye on those who arrived by ship than appearances had suggested. It also remained possible that Captain Casco had, after all, reported the goings-on aboard his vessel and the one responsible for the loss of his crew.
The lead guard suddenly veered toward a narrow side street, the rest of the group following close behind. Norrec frowned, no longer thinking of Casco and the Hawksfire. His captors now journeyed through lessfrequented, more disreputable-looking avenues into which even the brightest day would have had trouble shedding light. The soldier tensed, sensing something suddenly awry with the situation.
They journeyed a little farther, then turned into an alley nearly as dark as night. The band proceeded a few yards into it, then the guards came to an abrupt halt.
His captors stood at attention, seeming to barely even breathe. In fact, the four guards stood at attention with such stillness that Norrec could not help but think that they resembled nothing more than puppets whose master had ceased pulling their strings.
And as if to verify that notion, a portion of the shadowsseparated from the rest, shaping itself into an elderly, wrinkled man with long, silver hair and beard and clad in an elegant, broad-shouldered robe clearly fashioned in the style worn by someone Norrec had known so very well… Fauztin. However, this figure, this Vizjerei, had not only lived for far longer than Norrec's unfortunate friend, but by being here evidenced quite well the fact that his abilities far outstripped those of the dead mage.
"Leave us…" he ordered the guards, his voice strong, commanding, despite his advanced years.
The officer and his men obediently turned, marching back the way they had come.
"They will recall nothing," the Vizjerei commented. "As the others who aided them will recall nothing… just as I desire…" When Norrec attempted to speak, the silver-haired figure cut him off with but a singular glance. "And if you hope to live, westerner… you, too, will do as I desire… exactly as I desire."
Eleven
"Are you not feeling well, then, lass?" Captain Jeronnan asked. "You've come out of your cabin only to gather your meals, then returned there for the rest of the time."
Kara looked him directly in the eye. "I am well, captain. With the King's Shield nearing Lut Gholein, I must prepare for my journey from that point on. There is much for me to consider. I apologize if I appear unfriendly to you and your crew."
"Not unfriendly… just more distant." He sighed. "Well, if you need anything, just let me know."
She needed quite a lot, but nothing with which the good captain could help her. "Thank you… for everything."
The necromancer felt his eyes on her as she headed for her cabin. Jeronnan would likely hav
e done anything he could for Kara regardless of the situation and she much appreciated that fact. Unfortunately, any aid he might have offered would not have at all helped the enchantress in her present predicament.
As she entered the cabin, Kara saw the two undead standing in the far corner, waiting with the proverbial patience of their kind. Fauztin held the gleaming dagger ready, the Vizjerei's spell upon it ensuring that the necromancer could do nothing against the pair. The yellowed eyes of the mage stared unblinking at her. Kara could never be certain what Fauztin thought, for his expression varied little.
Not so with Sadun Tryst. The other revenant continually smiled, as if he had some jest he wished to share. Kara also found herself constantly desiring to straighten his head, which ever leaned a little too far to one side or another.
The stench of death surrounded them, but so far as she could tell it had not pervaded any part of the ship beyond her cabin. As a necromancer, the foul smell bothered Kara less than most, but she still would have preferred to do without it. Her studies and her faith had ensured that Kara had dealt almost daily with the realm of the dead, but those encounters had ever been on her own terms. Never before had the tables been turned, that the dead made her come at their beck and call.
"The good captain… leaves you to… your self still… I hope," Tryst gasped.
"He is concerned for me; that is all."
The wiry ghoul chuckled, a sound like an animal choking on a bone. Perhaps when the man's neck had been broken, a part of the bone there had lodged in his wind pipe. It would explain the way he talked. Even though Sadun Tryst did not need to breathe, he needed air in order to speak.
Of course, with a gaping hole in his throat, Tryst's companion, the Vizjerei, would forever be silent.
"Let us hope… that his concern… remains distant… from this room."
Fauztin pointed to the edge of the bed, a wordless order the dark mage readily understood. Her food held tight in one hand, she perched there, awaiting whatever new command they had of her. So long as the Vizjerei held the dagger, his magic kept Kara Nightshadow in thrall.
Tryst's eyes blinked once, a conscious effort on the part of the corpse. Unlike Fauztin, he worked to pretend thatsome life remained within his decaying husk. As a mage, the gaunt Vizjerei no doubt saw the situation in more practical, realistic terms. The fighter, on the other hand, appeared to have been a man much in love with all the aspects of life. Behind the smile Kara suspected that this ungodly predicament enraged him more than it did his companion.
"Eat…"
Under their unwavering gazes she did. All the while, though, the necromancer rummaged through her memory, trying to recall some bit of knowledge she might use to free herself from all this. That they had not so far touched Kara, much less harmed her in any manner, did not assuage her concerns in the least. The revenants had one goal in mind-to reach their friend, this Norrec Vizharan. If, at some point, it seemed necessary to sacrifice her for the culmination of that goal, Kara felt certain that they would do so without regret.
Vizharan had been their partner, their comrade, and yet he had evidently brutally slain both, then taken off with the armor. Sadun Tryst had not exactly told her all this, but she had come to that conclusion from the fragments of information garnered from conversations with the talkative ghoul. Tryst had never actually even accused Norrec, instead only saying that they needed to find their partner, to end what had begun in the tomb- and that because Kara had not stayed behind as they had wished, she would now be a part of their macabre quest.
Kara ate in silence, purposely keeping her gaze from the ungodly pair as much as possible. The less she drew their attention, especially that of Tryst, the better. Unfortunately, just as she reached the bottom of the bowl, the more vocal revenant suddenly rasped, "Is it… does it taste… good?"
The peculiar question so caught her by surprise that she had to look at him. "What?"
One pale, peeling finger pointed at the bowl. "The food. Does it… taste… good?"
Some bit remained, more than Kara truly desired at the moment. She considered what she knew of undead, never recalling any with an appetite for fish stew. Human flesh, yes, in some cases, but never fish stew. Still, on the off chance that it might ease tensions a little, the necromancer held out the bowl and, in a steady voice, asked, "Would you like to try it?"
Tryst looked at Fauztin, who remained the immovable rock. The slimmer ghoul finally stepped forward, seized the food, then immediately returned to his favored spot. Kara had never known that a walking corpse could move with such speed.
With decaying fingers he took some of the remnants and stuck them in his mouth. Sadun tried to chew, fragments of fish dropping to the floor. Despite the fact that both he and the mage acted as if living, the dead man's body did not completely function as it had previous to his murder.
He suddenly spat out what remained, at the same time a monstrous expression crossing his rotting countenance. "Filth! It tastes… it tastes of… death." Sadun eyed her. "It's too long dead… they should have… cooked it… less… a lot less." He considered this crucial matter more, eyes never leaving Kara. "I think… maybe they should have… not cooked it… at all… the fresher… the better… eh?"
The raven-haired woman did not reply at first, having no desire whatsoever to prolong a conversation that might turn to exactly what types of meat the ghoul would think tasted best uncooked. Instead, Kara tried to turn back to the subject of most concern to her-the hunt for Norrec Vizharan.
"You were aboard the Hawksfire, weren't you? You were aboard until whatever happened that caused the crew to abandon her."
"Not aboard… underneath… for the most part…"
"Underneath?" She pictured the two clutching the hull, using their inhuman strength to hold on even through the most turbulent of waves. Only a revenant could have accomplished such a harrowing effort. "What do you mean… for the most part?"
Sadun shrugged, sending his head wobbling for a moment. "We came aboard… for a short… time… after the fools jumped… ship."
"What made them leave?"
"They saw… what they didn't like to see…"
Not a very helpful answer, but the longer Kara could keep the conversation going, the less time the pair had to think about what else they might need of her-and what it might cost the necromancer.
Once more Kara thought about their unholy perseverance. The revenants had managed to nearly catch up with their prey, even latch themselves onto the hull of his vessel like a pair of lampreys onto a shark. The vision of the two undead clinging to the underside of the Hawksfire throughout the violent storm they had earlier mentioned would forever be seared into the necromancer's imagination. Truly Norrec Vizharan would not escape their brutal justice.
And yet… he so far had, even with them within yards of his throat.
"If you and he were alone aboard the ship, then why is the hunt not yet over?"
A decidedly grim change came over Tryst's smile, managing to make his general appearance even more ghastly than previous. "It should… have been."
He would say no more and when Kara looked to Fauztin, his dark visage revealed nothing. She pondered their responses as rapidly as she could, finally deciding to try to play on their failure aboard the Hawksfire. "I can be of more help to you, you know. Next time, nothing will go awry."
This time, Fauztin blinked once. What that meant, the necromancer could not say, but the Vizjerei's action had been for some specific reason.
Sadun Tryst's eyes narrowed slightly. "You'll be… of all the… help… we need. Trust on… that…"
"But I could be more than your unwilling puppet. I understand what drives you. I understand why you walk the earth. As an ally rather than a prisoner, the possibilities of what you can accomplish grow tenfold and more!"
Silent, the wiry corpse tossed and caught his own dagger a few times, something he had done often since his arrival. Apparently even death could not break some habits. Kara
thought he did it whenever he had to concentrate especially hard. "You understand… less than you think."
"All I am trying to say is that we need not be adversaries. My spell stirred up your murdered spirits, set you on this quest, and so I feel some responsibility. You seek this Norrec Vizharan, so do I. Why can we not work as allies?"
Again the mage blinked, almost as if he might have wanted to say something-an impossibility, of course. In lieu of that, he glanced down at his companion. The two undead shared a long gaze, which made the enchantress wonder if they communicated in some manner beyond her ken.
The grating sound of Sadun Tryst's unearthly chuckle filled the tiny cabin, but Kara knew better than to hope that Captain Jeronnan or one of the crew would hear. The Vizjerei had cast a spell deadening all sounds within. As far as the men of the King's Shield might be concerned, the necromancer made no more noise than if she now slept peacefully.
"My friend… he brings up an… amusing point. You… as our good ally… would surely… expect your dagger back… eh?" When she had no good reply, Trystadded, "Not a bargain… we could very much… live with… if you know what I mean."
Kara understood very well. Not only did the dagger give them power over her, but it likely served as a focus for that which let them function on the mortal plane. The ritual blade had been what had first summoned the phantasm of Fauztin and the probable result of taking it from them would be that both bodies would simply collapse, the vengeful shades sent back to the afterlife forever.
This pair would have none of that.
"You'll aid us… as we need. You'll serve… as the cloak covering… the truth from… those we meet. You'll do… what we can't do… in the light of day… where all can see…"
Fauztin blinked for a third time, a very distressing sign. He had never before taken such a visible interest in their conversations, preferring everything to come from his more vocal companion.
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