by James Wyatt
“You expect to see her there?”
“Of course not. It’s just—well, I keep thinking about what the Keeper of the Silver Flame said, and what you said about it.”
“What was that?”
“She told me that what I had lost was still in Mel-Aqat, remember? And you said that it seemed I had lost a great deal. I know I didn’t take that well at the time, and I was saying that all the things I had lost weren’t to be found in Mel-Aqat. But I might have been wrong.”
“You? Impossible. I have a great deal of respect for your scholarly work, Janik.” Mathas was smirking.
“And I have a great deal of respect for your wisdom and insight, Mathas. Thank you for telling me the truth about myself, even when I wouldn’t listen to you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Crossing the Phoenix Basin, they were soon out of sight of land. The bright blue-green water stretched out to the horizon, reflecting the sun in a brilliant wash of dancing light. At night, the Ring of Siberys, the moons, and the constellations were mirrored perfectly in the still water, so it seemed they were sailing through the middle of an endless sky. Autumn turned into winter, though they felt little difference crossing the tropical sea. Each day, the sun rose and set a little farther ahead of them, but the air remained pleasantly warm during the day, turning a little cooler at night and allowing comfortable sleep.
Janik noted the passage of days in his journal, but found little else to record. He fell into a comfortable rhythm of work and rest that did much to keep his mind off Maija and Mel-Aqat. But both haunted his dreams, solidifying his sense that resolution awaited him in the ancient ruins.
The easy rhythm came to a crashing end as the sun rose on their sixth week of travel.
“Sail ho!” the lookout shouted, rousing Janik from a deep sleep. He hurried to the deck and joined several sailors on the poop, peering into the distance behind them. He couldn’t see anything, but the lookout—a human so small she looked like an oversized halfling—was still up in the rigging, training her spyglass on the distant ship. “Two masts—can’t see anything more yet,” she called down.
“What are its colors?” Breddan demanded as he emerged from his cabin and started climbing the rigging.
“Give me a moment, it’s gaining slowly. I think—yes, Stormreach, same as ours.”
Breddan grunted. “Which means nothing. Any pirate with a shred of sense would hide his colors at this range. All right, everyone, back to your stations! There’s nothing to see!”
The sailors obeyed instantly, but Janik noticed he was not the only one who kept stealing glances aft. A sense of dread began gnawing at him throughout the day. As the sky started to redden in the west, he stood on the poop deck again, staring at what had become a speck on the horizon. Mathas stood beside him, Dania on his other side.
“I suppose you two with your elf eyes can see it perfectly,” he said, turning his gaze from the ship to his companions for a moment.
“Indeed,” Mathas said.
“See what?” Dania feigned ignorance, but her smile betrayed her.
Janik turned his eyes outward again. “Krael’s on board. I’m sure of it.”
“Of course,” Dania said with a sidelong glance at Mathas, “can’t you see him there on the foredeck, staring at us with grim determination?” She pointed vaguely. “Look, he’s got a crumb in his hair. Slob.”
Despite himself, Janik laughed hard. “I needed that.”
“I know,” Dania said.
“All right, you two,” Janik replied, “stop it!”
“I didn’t say anything,” Mathas protested.
“You know what I mean. So what do we do?” He jerked his head toward the distant ship.
Dania shrugged. “What can we do? He’s gaining on us, even though we’re riding the same wind. We can’t do anything until he’s closer. And even then—well, it might just be a race for the last three weeks.”
“Three weeks. What if he sails right past us? Gets there ahead of us?”
“Well, then we’ll have to make up for it overland.”
“We might have an advantage there,” Mathas said. “He cannot travel during daylight.” Janik gave him a quizzical look.
“Because he’s a vampire,” Dania explained. “Janik, please don’t ever forget he’s a vampire.”
“I won’t. But maybe you experts should give me a refresher lesson about exactly what that means. He drinks blood—I got that. Something about a stake through the heart springs to mind. Hates sunlight, I knew that.” He looked at Dania. “So I know you didn’t really see him on deck. Oh, and you said he took over your mind.”
Mathas arched his eyebrow and Janik realized he had not been present when Dania told that part of her story. Janik bit his tongue, but the elf said nothing and Dania didn’t seem to notice.
“He’ll be difficult to kill,” Dania said. “His body heals incredibly quickly. But even when it reaches its limits, his body just dissolves to mist. I think I told you that’s what happened to the shifter vampire the first time we confronted him. The good news is that Krael isn’t likely to have his coffin nearby—once he dissolves into mist, he has to get to his coffin to rebuild his body. He can’t do that if his coffin’s too far away. Even if it’s on the ship with him, I doubt he’ll bring it across the desert with him.”
“You’ve made quite a study of vampires,” Mathas observed.
Dania blushed slightly. “I’ve been a little single-minded myself this past year and a half.”
“Wait,” Janik said, his voice rising a little. “Is that what this is all about? You getting your revenge on Krael? So was all that business about some spirit we released just for show? To make me feel like I had a responsibility for the good of the world to come and sort things out?”
“You’ve got no business getting angry at me, Janik,” Dania said, her voice still calm. “That’s the same reason you’re here. You and I both have personal motives for our involvement, but that doesn’t change the purpose of our mission. The Keeper of the Flame has no grudge against Krael, and she wouldn’t give us so much of the Church’s money just to help us get revenge. Besides, my study of vampires isn’t just about revenge.”
“Of course it’s not,” Janik said, a little quieter, but still biting.
“It’s not. My encounter with Krael made it very clear to me that vampires in general—and Krael specifically—are a blight on the world. I don’t know any greater evil, and it’s worth making sacrifices to fight them, to exterminate them if possible.”
“So you’re going to launch a new crusade, like when the church wiped out all the werewolves? And if a lot of innocent people get staked in the process, like last time, that’s a worthwhile sacrifice, is that it?”
Mathas had quietly stepped back, out of an awkward position between Janik and Dania as their argument grew. Now the two of them were face to face, and Janik punctuated his last point by jabbing a finger at Dania’s heart. Dania drew back and slammed her fist into Janik’s chin. Her gauntlet drew blood, and Janik staggered backward before sitting down hard on the deck.
“Sea of Fire!” Janik swore, clutching his chin. “That’s what happens when people get in the path of your crusades? I guess I’m lucky it was just your gauntlet and not your sword—or your wooden stake.”
Despite the fury that clearly raged in her heart, Dania extended a hand toward his chin but he flinched away. “Hold still,” she said, her voice gentle. This time he let her touch his wound, and warmth spread from her touch. “I shouldn’t have hit you,” she said, though her voice was still sharp with anger. “I’m sorry.”
Janik didn’t answer. He looked down and rubbed his chin, which showed no sign of a cut or bruise. A faint, pleasant tingle was all that remained. A jumble of memories bubbled up inside Janik that hurt far more than the punch had—the feeling of Maija healing his wounds, an earthier sensation somehow, where Dania’s touch was fire. But Maija’s touch had always held more than healing. It was also
full of love, and often passion. Bonded to that thought, competing with it, was the memory of the night when Dania had held his chin and kissed him for the first time. He had thought at the time how different her touch felt from Maija’s, but now they seemed more alike than different.
“When I speak of sacrifice, Janik, I don’t mean plowing over innocent people.” The angry edge was fading from Dania’s voice, but Janik turned away, looking back at the tiny ship far behind them. “You will understand before this is over.”
Janik heard her footsteps thumping away across the deck. When he turned around again, Mathas had gone as well. He leaned on the bulwark, staring out at the distant ship until darkness shrouded it from his eyes. Then, for a long time, he watched the moons make their way across both sky and reflective sea.
LANDFALL
CHAPTER 11
I can’t see her any more,” Dania said, and Janik slammed his fist into the bulwark.
The four companions were perched at the prow, less than a week from the end of their journey across the Phoenix Basin. Two weeks had passed since the ship appeared behind them. A week ago, she had come even with them, though she kept her distance. For all their apprehension, the passing of the other ship had been uneventful. Dania and Mathas could see figures moving on the deck, but even when Dania borrowed the lookout’s spyglass, she was unable to identify them.
The other ship never closed within hailing distance or showed any threat. Janik even entertained occasional doubts that Krael was on the other ship—maybe it was a Morgrave or Wayfinder expedition to Mel-Aqat or some other site in the great desert Menechtarun. Maybe she was keeping a safe distance out of fear of pirates. Most of the time, though, he listened to his dread, and as the ship sailed out of sight ahead of them, he felt a crushing defeat.
“How long until we make land?” Janik asked no one in particular.
“I just checked with Breddan,” Auftane answered. “We’ll probably wake up on the fourth day from now in sight of land, and once we choose our harbor, we should drop anchor by midday.”
“And how much faster is Krael going?”
“Well, it took him two weeks to gain about twenty miles on us,” Auftane said, furrowing his brow in concentration. “So he’ll probably make landfall sometime during the night, just before we arrive.”
“So his head start will depend on how much darkness he still has once he lands,” Janik said. “If he gets to shore only a little before dawn and he needs to stop, then we could easily catch up and pass him in our first day’s travel.”
“Assuming we get to shore well before sundown,” Dania said.
“And passing him might not be that simple,” Mathas said. “If he has soldiers with him, they could set up patrols around their camp. We would have to give it a wide berth to avoid them.”
“And are you vampire experts sure he can’t travel during daylight?” Janik said, looking from Dania to Mathas.
“I’m not sure of anything,” Dania said, even as Mathas shook his head.
“No?” Janik said, his eyebrows raised.
“He has enough people with him to crew a ship,” Mathas said. “In theory—”
“That’s enough people to carry his coffin through the jungle?” Janik said.
“If not his coffin, then maybe an urn holding his mist form—or something,” Dania said.
“But the living ones need to rest, too,” Auftane pointed out. “They can’t travel night and day.”
“But it’s possible they could take the lead early on and keep it,” Janik said. “That’s exactly what I didn’t want to hear.”
“You worry too much, Janik,” Dania said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t know how it will turn out until we’re there. Let’s concentrate on getting to shore and getting to Mel-Aqat as quickly as we can.”
“You’re right,” Janik said. He sighed, then smiled. “As much as it pains me to admit it.”
A playful push from Dania sent Janik off balance, and he stumbled a few steps, laughing.
The sun rose on the fourth day and no one needed the lookout to point out the ship’s masts rising in the distance ahead of them—or the land rising gently from the water ahead of her. The ship’s sails were furled, and even Dania and Mathas could see no one moving on deck. A rocky beach stretched out beyond the ship, giving way to a line of low bluffs crowned with dry, brown scrub.
Janik spent the morning on the prow, unable to eat, watching the miles between them and the shore diminish with agonizing slowness. His stomach was clenched in a knot—the reality was sinking in at last that he was returning to Mel-Aqat. Last time they had passed this very stretch of coast, but had continued farther to the south, making land at the edge of the desert. He couldn’t say he remembered this place, but it was familiar—its shape, its looming shore, the sense of untamed wilderness, and the heat weighing on him. Just for a moment, he was sure he saw something large and predatory lumbering along the top of the bluffs, solidifying that sense of utter wildness. Stormreach, in many ways, felt like just another city, though the hill giants working with the city watch were exotic—not something you’d see in Sharn, let alone Fairhaven. But this was Xen’drik, and everything Janik associated with it. Ahead lay new land to be discovered … and one old defeat he had to face again.
Breddan approached the shore slowly. He didn’t have charts to show the dangers that might lie in the water—Janik doubted such charts existed—and the wash of sand from the beach ahead clouded the water so they couldn’t see any reefs, rocks, or sandbars that might obstruct their path or tear the hull. Breddan also tried to avoid getting too close to the other ship, which the lookout had identified as Hope’s Endeavor.
How Krael had managed to leave Stormreach on that ship was a mystery to them all. Janik had expected the Stormreach watch to keep a close eye on that ship above all else, but it was possible that Krael and his allies were strong enough to fight their way onto the ship and sail out of the harbor. Neither the lookout nor Mathas and Dania, with their sharp elf eyes, could see any sign of life aboard that ship, but that only made the crew of the Silverknife more uneasy about getting close to it.
About half a mile from land and roughly even with Hope’s Endeavor, Breddan declared that they would go no closer, and gave the order to drop anchor. Dania and Auftane had been getting the keelboat ready to launch, moving all their supplies onto it and checking it for any damage it might have sustained.
“We part ways here, Janik Martell,” Breddan said, joining Janik on the prow.
“Yes, this is it,” Janik replied. “I am most grateful for your work, Breddan Omaar.” He shifted to the Goblin tongue and clasped his fist to his chest. “Your ancestors’ swords were keen and strong,” he said with a small bow.
Breddan returned the gesture and the Goblin phrase, then added in Common, “I pray that the Silver Flame will bless and guard the rest of your journey.”
“Thank you,” Janik said stiffly. “I hope that your return journey to Stormreach is completely uneventful, and that you find more work before your payment for this trip is completely exhausted.”
“Thank you, Janik Martell,” Breddan said. “I feel as though this is the beginning of a new time in my life, when work will not be so hard to find. The Silver Flame smiles on me for helping you—I feel it in my heart.”
“I hope you are right, Breddan. You’re a good man, and you deserve better than you’ve had so far.”
“Janik!” Dania’s voice came from the main deck. “We’re ready!”
“Goodbye,” Janik said, extending his hand.
“Goodbye, Janik.” Breddan clasped his hand firmly and shook it. “I will take my leave of your companions as well.”
They walked together off the forecastle to where Dania, Mathas, and Auftane stood, along with many members of Breddan’s crew. Breddan shook Auftane’s hand vigorously, bowed deeply to Mathas, and extended a hand to Dania—which she brushed aside as she threw her arms around him. The reddish skin of the hobgob
lin’s face deepened to purple, but he returned her embrace. The rest of the gathered crew wished them well—even the mute half-orc clapped Janik warmly on the shoulder. They lowered the keelboat into the water, climbed down into it, and began to paddle their way slowly to the shore.
“The wilds of Xen’drik,” Auftane said quietly, wonder in his voice. “I can’t believe we’re really here.”
“I can’t believe we’re back,” Janik said.
“Have you been into the wilderness before, Auftane?” Dania asked, peering closely at the dwarf. “You grew up in Stormreach, right?”
“I did, but I’m as much a child of the city as you can be in a small city like Stormreach. We used to dare each other to go into the uninhabited ruins around Stormreach, but that’s as much as I’ve ever seen of Xen’drik’s wonders. I’ve traveled quite a bit in Khorvaire, of course, but I’ve stuck mostly to the cities. Remember, we’re farther from Stormreach now than we were in Sharn, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Are we really?” Dania exclaimed.
Janik pulled his rough map from his coat and measured with his fingers. “A little bit, yes,” he said. “Huh. I never thought about that.”
“Which is another way of saying we’re more than twice as far from civilization as we were in Stormreach,” Mathas said with a scowl, and the others all laughed.
“So the cities of Khorvaire were like my neighborhood,” Auftane continued. “This is the wilderness!”
“That’s right,” Janik said, his voice suddenly serious. “It doesn’t get more wild than this, and we all need to remember that. This is not the city, where danger is predictable and lurks in dark alleys. Some of the animals here will try to eat us. Some things lurk here that should not exist in a sane world, and they’ll try to do worse than that. Be on your guard, starting now.”
As if emphasizing Janik’s point, a large, smooth rock jutting just above the water suddenly began to rise. Water streamed down a hulking, crustacean form and two huge claws reached out toward the keelboat.
