Sea of Death botf-3

by Tim Waggoner

  The lich released a hissing laugh that sounded like a nest of venomous snakes had taken up lodging within her throat. "You have no choice but to serve Vol, Haaken. She's in your blood."

  The Coldheart commander thought of the loss of his legs and the strange limbs that had replaced them. "That shark you summoned…"

  "You are doubtless aware of what those who worship the Silver Flame call the Purge, when the so-called Purified caused the near extinction of Khorvaire's lycanthropes. But even warrior-priests as mighty as those of the Silver Flame have their limits, and while the Purified carried out their Purge on land, they were unable to do anything about the lycanthropes that inhabit the seas. The creature that attacked you was a wereshark, Haaken. A very old and powerful one. It passed its curse on to you through its bite. Your new lycanthropic healing abilities are already in the process of regenerating your lost legs, and you should be completely healed well before midnight. At that time you will be able to begin your new life as a servant of our most dread mistress."

  If Haaken hadn't seen the ancient wereshark with his own eyes, he would've thought the lich was insane. But more than the evidence of his eyes, he could sense that the lich's words were true. He could feel it in his blood.

  A wereshark… Haaken had heard of them, of course. Every sailor had. He'd never seen one before, but then again, maybe he had and just hadn't realized it. He'd seen hundreds of sharks over the years, and any one of them might have been a lycanthrope. The thought that he was now such a creature should've filled him with loathing, but it didn't. Instead, he felt curiously good, even excited. Like all Lhazaarites, Haaken was more at home on the water than off. Now he would know what it was like to be able to breathe underwater, to swim free and strong, to hunt prey, capture it, and devour it whole.

  Without realizing it, he smiled, revealing two rows of sharp white teeth.

  "What must I do?"

  And there in the dark, while Haaken's new legs continued to grow, Nathifa told him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Diran, are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Ghaji asked. "You know a lot more about hiring ships than I do."

  Dusk was approaching, and the inner courtyard of the palace was cloaked in shadow. Baroness Calida and Taran had gone inside a while ago. The boy had been eager to have his mother show him his bedroom; tonight would be the first night he'd ever slept in it. Their other companions had already left the courtyard for Kolbyr's docks. Only Ghaji and Diran remained behind-and Leontis. The cloaked priest still sat on the edge of the fountain and stared into the water, as unmoving as any of the animal statues that ringed the fountain.

  "Asenka and Hinto know just as much as I, if not more," Diran said. "And thanks to Calida's generosity, we'll be able to hire the fastest ship in port, no matter how much the captain charges. You'll have no difficulty finding a suitable vessel with or without me."

  After Solus had identified a destination for them, Diran had told the Baroness that he'd changed his mind about accepting a reward from her. Calida had been only too happy to fund their expedition to Trebaz Sinara.

  Diran glanced at Leontis then lowered his voice. "There's a reason my old friend has sought me out, and if I'm to discover what it is, I'll need to speak with him alone."

  Ghaji scowled-which didn't surprise Diran since the half-orc scowled all the time, even when he was happy-then nodded once. "Very well. I'll be down at the docks with the others… if you need me."

  Diran smiled and clasped his friend's shoulder. "When have I ever not needed you?"

  Ghaji grinned. "Truer words were never spoken." Then with a last suspicious look at Leontis, the half-orc turned and left the courtyard.

  After Ghaji had departed, Diran stood for a moment regarding Leontis, whose attention was still fixed on the water within the fountain's basin. It hadn't been that many years since Diran had last seen Leontis, and the man looked almost untouched by the passage of time. Oh, there was some gray in his beard, but not much… a few more lines around the eyes, perhaps. But the greatest change in Leontis wasn't physical. He seemed weary, as if he were weighed down by a heavy burden. Depression and spiritual malaise were hardly uncommon among the Purified, especially in those who took the most active role in combating the evils that plagued the world. There was a saying in the Church: "Gaze into the Darkness long enough, and you'll see that the shadows you find there are your own."

  And never had that bit of wisdom been driven home for Diran like that night many years ago by the banks of the Thrane River…

  "Do you see it?" Diran whispered. "There, up ahead."

  There were enough moons in the sky to provide sufficient illumination to allow even someone without an assassin's training for night-work to see. At least, there should have been.

  "Where?" Leontis whispered back, sounding vexed.

  Diran tried not to sigh. He was fond of Leontis, and they got along well, but he sometimes found it difficult to have patience with his fellow acolyte's lack of experience. "Ahead of us on the riverbank, about a hundred yards away. A mill, I think. That's where the evil is located."

  Leontis's teeth flashed white in the moonlight as he smiled. "How much are you willing to wager that Tusya knew about the mill long before we came to the area, and that's why he chose to make camp here?"

  Diran smiled in response, but he didn't draw his lips away from his teeth. Emon Gorsedd had taught him to be more cautious than that. A bit of moonlight reflected off one's teeth at the wrong time could well mean the difference between success and failure for an assassin. And failure too often meant death, and not for one's intended target.

  "Not a single coin," he said.

  The river burbled on their left, its gentle sound accompanied by the soft whisper of the wind. Despite the lateness of the hour, birds sang to one another, perhaps stirred by the blue-white light of the moons, and their trills added notes of beauty to the night's symphony. During his years as an assassin, Diran had learned not to be taken in by false appearances, and this lesson had only been reinforced during his time with Tusya. Just because all seemed peaceful here didn't mean they weren't in danger. Evil all too often disguised itself as innocence and beauty, a sweet-smelling poison waiting for someone foolish enough to drink it, as Aldarik Cathmore might have said.

  The two young acolytes approached the mill warily, walking side by side, their footfalls making no sound on the grass as they drew closer to the shadowy structure. Diran hadn't had any formal training in sensing evil. Those sorts of priestly skills-assuming one had an aptitude for them-were taught in seminary. But he had a natural ability, Tusya said, honed by his previous life as a hired killer, and that sense was screaming now. He felt a tingle on the back of his neck, as if burrowing insects had dug their way beneath the skin and were crawling around. Diran had never sensed evil this strong before, and he paused, his gorge rising, and feared he was about to vomit.

  Leontis stopped and look at him with concern, but Diran focused his mind just as Emon Gorsedd had taught.

  Forget everything, boy. Forget where you are and what you're doing. Forget even who you are, and just breathe. In and out, in and out… until your mind becomes clear.

  Diran did as his old teacher had instructed, and after several moments he felt better. He gave Leontis a reassuring nod, and the two of them continued approaching the mill.

  When Diran had first begun studying the ways of the Silver Flame with Tusya, he had been reluctant to make use of his assassin's training in any way.

  I used those skills in the service of evil, Teacher, Diran had once asked. Doesn't that make the skills themselves evil?

  Tusya, as always, had possessed a ready answer for Diran's question.

  Skills are simply tools, the priest had said. It's what we do with them that results in good or evil. It would be wasteful for you to abandon skills you already possessed just because you once misused them. Far better to redeem those skills by employing them for good.

  "Should we go in together
or separately?" Leontis asked. He was well aware of Diran's practical experience as an assassin and, just like Tusya, he didn't hold it against Diran.

  Diran considered for a moment. His experience didn't extend to entering lairs of evil without Tusya's guidance.

  "Together, I think. If we were facing a mortal foe, it might make sense to approach from different directions. But as our foe is a spiritual creature of some sort, we will be stronger if we remain together and combine our faith against it." Diran frowned. "Besides, I have a feeling that whatever evil lairs within the mill is already well aware of our presence."

  "So much the better," Leontis said. "Evil should be confronted head on."

  Diran knew that life was never that simple. Sometimes the direct approach got you killed. But he saw no benefit to sharing this information with Leontis right now, and the two acolytes continued making their way steadily and cautiously toward the mill's entrance. It wasn't difficult to find.

  Now that they were up close, they could make out the mill's features. There was nothing remarkable about it, nothing to differentiate it from dozens of others Diran had seen before. The mill had been constructed from wood and stone on the eastern bank of the river, and a waterwheel provided the motive force for grinding grain. Effective enough, Diran supposed, though a contained water elemental would've performed more efficiently. Not that it mattered anymore. The wheel hung slightly askew and was frozen in place, resisting the river's current. The mill's stonework remained in good repair, but its wood was weathered, a number of the planks cracked, broken, or missing altogether. The mill had been abandoned for some time, Diran judged. Decades, at least.

  Of course it's abandoned, Diran thought. What self-respecting evil spirit would want to haunt a newly constructed mill?

  "Do you feel it?" Leontis asked. "The temperature is several degrees colder this close."

  Diran nodded. He'd noticed. He'd also noticed that now that they stood at the mill's threshold, Leontis seemed hesitant. Diran wondered if he were talking in order to postpone entering.

  Leontis went on. "Should we take a light with us?"

  If he were going in alone, especially to confront a mortal enemy, Diran would've wanted to use the darkness to his advantage. The shadows are an assassin's greatest ally, Emon had always said. But Tusya had taught him that light could be a powerful weapon against spiritual evil. Besides, if Leontis were to make the most effective use of his bow, it would help if he could see what he was aiming his arrows at.

  Diran reached into a pocket and withdrew a light gem-a favorite tool of the Brotherhood of the Blade. Each gem contained a tiny fire elemental that began to glow in response to the touch of a human hand. The gems provided light: not too strong or harsh, just enough to see by without giving away one's presence unnecessarily. In addition, they were small and easily portable, and their light could be shut off simply by closing one's hand or tucking the gem into a pocket. Of course, the gems had their drawbacks, chief among them being how easy it was to lose hold of the damned things. If Diran had a gold piece for every light gem he'd lost over the years…

  "I'll go first," Diran suggested, but Leontis shook his head.

  "You open the door for me, then I'll go first. If you weren't so tall, maybe I could shoot over you. As it is, you'll be in the way of my arrows."

  Diran nodded and Leontis-who already had an arrow nocked and ready-stepped back and raised his bow. Diran held the light gem steady as he took hold of the mill's door handle, depressed the catch, and gently pushed.

  The handle tore free from Diran's hand as the door fell inward with a thunderous crash. A cloud of dust billowed forth from the now open entrance, and Diran turned to regard his fellow acolyte.

  "If whatever is inside didn't know we were coming before, it surely does now."

  Leontis grinned wryly. "I suppose that means the time for stealth has passed."

  Diran grinned back. "I'd say that was an accurate supposition."

  He stepped aside so Leontis could enter the mill. As his companion stepped past, Diran slipped a silver dagger out of a hidden sheath in his cloak. He'd owned the dagger for years, having acquired it on a job when he was seventeen, when he'd been hired to assassinate a baron in Adunair who'd turned out to be a vampire. It had been Diran's first and only encounter with one of the undead fiends, but he'd kept the dagger, just in case. It had come in handy on several occasions since he'd begun studying with Tusya, and he had the feeling he'd have further need of it this night.

  As soon as Leontis had passed across the mill's threshold, Diran slipped inside after his friend with silent grace. The air inside the mill was even colder than outside, and the dust from the collapsing door had yet to settle, making visibility poor, even with the aid of the light gem. Leontis continued holding his bow at the ready, but he didn't loose the arrow. Leontis wasn't one to act on impulse.

  Inside, they saw only what they expected: a large room with floorboards warped and broken, sacks filled with old grain piled against the walls, millstone set in the middle of the floor, wooden rods and gears for turning the stone, ceiling beams overhead, missing roof tiles allowing shafts of moonlight to fall upon the dust-covered floor. But Diran noticed something else. The grain sacks had no holes from where hungry mice had nibbled their way inside, no bats hung from the ceiling beams, and there were no spiderwebs anywhere, only strands of cobwebs. There was no life of any kind within the abandoned mill.

  "Now what?" Leontis spoke in a low voice even though there was no longer any need to maintain secrecy, but Diran knew the man couldn't help it. The mill's atmosphere of dread inspired one to speak in soft tones.

  Now what, indeed? Up to now, Tusya had always taken the lead whenever they'd "bearded evil in its lair," as the old priest half-jokingly referred to it. And whenever they'd done so, the evil had obligingly made its presence known-usually by leaping out and trying to slay them. But it appeared that the evil that infested this place had no intention of being so cooperative.

  "I suppose we could always try summoning the evil forth," Diran suggested.

  Leontis kept his silverburn-coated arrow ready and swept his gaze slowly back and forth, continuous alert for danger. Diran noted with approval that Leontis's hands were steady, and the tip of his arrow didn't waver.

  "And how, pray tell, are we supposed to do that?"

  Good question. Diran knew such rites existed in Church lore. Tusya had spoken of them a time or two, and Diran had read about similar rituals during his years at Emon Gorsedd's academy, when-at Emon's encouragement-he'd read widely about all manner of subjects, including the supernatural. But to how those rites were carried out specifically, Diran had no idea. But that didn't stop him from giving it a try.

  He knelt down and wedged the light gem into a small crack in the floorboard near his foot. He then straightened and, still gripping the silver dagger in one hand, he reached into his tunic pocket and withdrew an arrowhead. Leontis had once asked Diran why he chose to keep the symbol of his new faith hidden when it was the custom among the Purified to carry their arrowheads in plain sight. Diran had responded that it was a practical decision. Just as with smiling in the moonlight, displaying a piece of silver where light might glint off of it wasn't conducive to approaching an enemy without being noticed. Leontis had seemed less than satisfied with this explanation, but he'd never challenged Diran on it again.

  Diran planted his feet apart, raised his hands into the air, and spoke in what he hoped was a commanding voice.

  "Spirits that inhabit this place, in the holy name of the Silver Flame, we beseech you to reveal yourselves!"

  Diran thought he could almost feel the mill tremble in response to his voice, but no unearthly voices answered, and no undead creatures came charging toward them out the shadows. After several moments passed without anything happening, Diran lowered his arms and looked to Leontis.

  "Beseech?" Leontis asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Diran shrugged.

  Despite the
failure of Diran's exhortation, Leontis continued to hold his bow steady. Just because nothing had responding to Diran's summons didn't mean nothing was present. After all, they could both still sense the evil permeating the mill.

  "So what do we do next?" Leontis asked. "Tear the place apart looking for hidden chambers? Rip up the floorboards to see if any bodies are hidden beneath?"

  Diran thought for a moment. "I say we burn the mill down."

  Leontis looked at Diran as if he'd taken leave of his senses. "Are you possessed?"

  Diran smiled. "I hope not. If the evil will not come forward to confront us, then it must be because for whatever reason it's hiding from us. So the best way to flush it out is to take away its hiding place."

  Leontis mulled over his fellow acolyte's suggestion. "It's worth a try. Given how old this place is, we shouldn't have any trouble getting a good fire going in short order. And who knows? Perhaps by destroying the mill we'll also destroy the evil presence that inhabits it. I'll keep watch while you start the fire."

  Diran nodded. He slipped his dagger back into its sheath, then reached into his tunic for his flint and striker. He knew a way to release the fire elemental from the light gem if necessary, but he didn't want to waste the little flame spirit if he didn't have to. But as he brought out the flint, he felt a sudden chill gust of wind waft through the mill and enfold him in its icy grasp.

  No…

  It sounded like the mournful wail of a distant wind, but Diran knew he was hearing a voice. The coldness surrounding him intensified, and he thought he could feel delicate fingers gripping the wrist of the hand that held the flint. But when he looked down, he saw nothing but his own flesh.

  "Diran, what is it?"

  Diran tried to answer his friend, but his lips felt sluggish and numb, as if he'd been outside in winter cold for too long, and his voice refused to come. He felt his strength begin to ebb, and he knew that the unseen creature holding onto him was stealing his life essence.