by Tim Waggoner
Haaken's legs had regrown, but they weren't human limbs, and he was having trouble walking. He moved like a baby that had only recently taken his first steps and still doesn't trust his legs to keep him upright for more than a few seconds at a time.
"I told Skarm to deactivate the elemental come nightfall," Nathifa said. "We don't want to be moving too fast when Haaken takes his first swimming lesson."
The man gave Nathifa a horrified look. "What do you mean?"
"You now possess abilities I wish to make use of," the lich said. "But in order for me to do so, you must learn to master them. It is time for you to start." She turned to Makala. "Throw him overboard."
Before Haaken could protest, Makala stepped forward, took hold of the man's left arm, and flung him over the railing. Haaken yelled as he soared through the air, but his voice was soon cut off as he hit the water and sank.
Makala grinned. Serving Nathifa had its good points from time to time.
The Lhazaar Sea is always cold, but it becomes far more so in winter. A sailor who falls overboard without a protective charm of some sort will be dead soon after plunging into the deadly winter waters. It was only late autumn, but the open sea was still cold enough to kill, and Haaken-who'd sailed aboard one vessel or another all his life-knew this with the same certainty that he knew which way was up and which was down. He was dead as soon as Makala hurled him into the air-it would just take his body a few minutes more to realize it.
When Haaken struck the frigid waters of the Lhazaar, he wished he had died the moment Makala grabbed hold of him. The shock made his heart seize up in his chest, and his teeth clamped down so hard he thought they might shatter. If his tongue had been between them, he would've bitten it in two. Every nerve in his body went numb, and his thoughts became unfocused, gray, and sluggish. He could feel the cold of the sea penetrate his bones and begin to freeze the marrow within.
Not much longer now, he thought. A few more moments, and it'll all be over.
In a way, it was a relief. Life in the Principalities was harsh and unforgiving, and from the day Haaken Sprull was born, he'd lived a life of constant struggle and battle. At least now he'd finally have a chance to rest.
Cold numbness was replaced by comforting warmth as oblivion slowly began to claim him.
But then he felt a spark deep within the core of his being, as if something new was being born inside him. Energy surged through his body, giving him a strength that he had never known before, had never even conceived was possible. He felt his body begin to grow long and sleek, his legs merge into a single limb, his arms retract, fingers joining together, hands flattening, eyes sliding to the sides of his head, nose and mouth lengthening, jaws growing wider, teeth becoming sharp and pointed. The transformation was agonizing beyond belief, and he tried to scream, but all that escaped his mouth was a fount of bubbles. His clothes tore, fell away, and were lost to the depths. He was free to move, to swim, to glide through the water like an arrow through air. The sea no longer seemed cold, no longer felt like a hostile force intent on claiming his life… it felt like home.
Haaken no longer relied on sight as his primary sense. Smell was far more useful here in the sea, and he had new senses upon which to draw as well. He could detect the slightest change in the currents around him, could feel the vibrations of other bodies moving through the water, creatures of various kinds and sizes, and his instincts automatically sorted them into two categories: prey and not-prey. A large not-prey moved ahead and above him, and from its vibrations, he understood that whatever this Not-Prey was, it wasn't alive, which meant it was not food, and thus of absolutely no interest. And yet, he felt compelled to swim toward it, and so he did, not questioning his instincts, not even possessing the ability to question them. He surged through the water, moving swift and sure, angling upward, toward the place where the surface of the sea touched the Great Nothing beyond. He felt a twinge of reluctance and almost veered off. The Great Nothing was not a place for his kind, but his instincts continued to insist he head for the Not-Prey, and so he did, tail fins thrashing wildly, impelling him higher, higher…
His dorsal fin cut the surface, and then with a final effort he leaped forth from the water and into the air. For an instant his body-all seventeen feet of it-hung suspended above the waves. He saw the Not-Prey in front of him, tantalizingly close, but just out reach of his massive jaws. But Haaken was determined to reach the Not-Prey, and he felt the power within him respond to his desire. His body reshaped itself once more, lateral fins becoming arms and hands, tail fin shortening as legs and feet sprouted from his trunk. As Haaken reached the apex of his leap and began to arc downward, he lunged forward with clawed hands, grabbed hold of the Zephyr's aft railing, and heaved his bulk onto the deck.
He stood near the empty pilot's seat and the deactivated containment ring, his cold black eyes focused on three beings staring at him from the center of the deck. Haaken regarded the trio warily, his gills opening and closing as his newly grown lungs drew in oxygen, trying to decide if the strangers were prey or not-prey. An aching pit of hunger lay at the core of his being, and he decided he might as well take a bite out of one of the strangers to see what they tasted like. He took a step forward, thick strands of saliva dripping from his tooth-filled maw and spattering onto the soarwood deck.
The white-faced stranger cloaked in living shadow spoke then. "That's enough, Haaken."
Haaken…
The noise was familiar to him for some reason, and hearing it made his head hurt. Then he remembered: that sound was his name.
The man-shark's form blurred and shifted, and Haaken Sprull-naked and dripping with freezing cold seawater-stood upon the deck of the Zephyr. The frigid late autumn wind began to turn the water coating his body to a shell of ice, but Haaken barely noticed. He no longer felt the cold. He was powerful and strong… stronger than he'd ever been before, than he'd ever imagined was possible.
"Not that I'm complaining," Makala said, "but do we really want him going about naked?"
Nathifa looked at the vampire as if she had no idea what the woman was talking about, but then she took hold one of her robe's dark tendrils and tore it free. She flung it toward Haaken, and the tendril flew toward him like an ebon leaf tumbling in the wind. The patch of darkness grew as it came toward him, then it wrapped around his groin and rear, sealing itself to his body to form a pair of black trunks.
"Not the most stylish solution, perhaps," Makala said, "but I suppose it'll do."
Haaken ignored the vampire's words, and he was only distantly aware of the clothing provided by the lich sorceress. His thoughts were filled with the memory of water, strength, and hunger so intense it was almost agonizing.
He smiled, displaying teeth that still very much resembled those of a shark. He was looking forward to his next lesson.
Later that night in Kolbyr's palace, Diran, Ghaji, and the others slept in comfortable-if not quite luxurious-rooms provided for them by a grateful Baroness Calida. The captain of the Turnabout had been only too happy to accept Calida's money, and they would be embarking for Trebaz Sinara at dawn's first light. Everyone had turned in early, agreeing they should all get a good night's rest before they set out on the morrow. Each companion had his or her individual room, save for Solus who had no need of sleep. The psiforged stood outside in the inner courtyard, watching heated water bubble forth from the enchanted fountain as he used his psychic abilities to cleanse the last traces of Fury from the palace.
Sometime near midnight there was furtive movement in the palace corridors, followed by two knocks-one on Diran's door, and one on Ghaji's. Both doors were opened, guests were welcomed, and four people got little sleep that night.
And hundreds of miles to the north in a frozen palace made of ice and bone, a claw-like hand stroked the pate of a glossy black skull, and a pair of bloodless lips stretched into a satisfied smile.
Everything was proceeding exactly as planned.
CHAPTER TWELVE
So when am I going to meet Captain Onu?" Diran asked.
"I'm not sure you want to," Ghaji replied. "He… takes some getting used to."
Diran gave his friend a quizzical look, but Ghaji just shook his head. "It's difficult to explain. You'll have to experience the good captain for yourself. As for his first mate Thokk… well, he's as night to the captain's day. Where Onu is honey-tongued and effusive, Thokk is plain-spoken and all business." In fact, it was the dwarf who'd negotiated the terms of their passage while Onu drank ale and regaled the tavern-goers with sea stories, each more outrageous than the last.
It was an hour after sunrise, and the Turnabout sailed eastward into the Gulf of Ingjald, Kolbyr little more than a speck in the distance off their aft bow. The slate-gray surface of the Lhazaar was choppy today, but not so bad that the galleon rode rough across the water. A strong wind blew from the northwest, filling the three-master's sails with bitterly cold air that seemed to waft straight down from the Fingerbone Mountains. Gray clouds blocked the sun, casting an oppressive pall over the Turnabout. The crew worked in silence for the most part, men and women making a point of staying out of each other's way as they tied lines, worked sails, scraped ice from deck planking, any of the thousand and one never-ending tasks that defined a life a sea as much as the motion of the waves and the tang of saltwater in the air. The crew were of various races, which was unusual for the Principalities, where ships were manned primarily by humans. There were a scattering of half-elves and gnomes and-despite his people's dislike for water in general-a lone dwarf who served as first mate. The crew dressed for practicality in heavy wool clothing and fur-lined cloaks.
The Turnabout was a typical three-masted galleon with bowsprit, forecastle, main deck, quarterdeck, and poop. And two balconies at the rear, one above the other, with large stern windows. Longboats were stacked upside down on the main deck, tied down and covered with burlap to prevent them from sliding around and hurting anyone if the sea became too turbulent. The sails billowed. Ghaji hoped the wind would last for the eight days or so it would take the vessel to reach Trebaz Sinara. He wished they still had the Zephyr. The sloop was smaller than the galleon, but because her sails were perpetually full, thanks to the magic of the elemental bound within the containment ring bolted to the deck, and also because of the soarwood runners, the vessel could skate across the surface of the water with astounding speed. If Yvka still had possession of the Zephyr, they could reach Trebaz Sinara in-Ghaji did a quick mental calculation-two, maybe three days at the most. But if wishes were hippogriffs…
Diran and Ghaji stood on the port side of the main deck. The others remained below in their quarters, doing their best to stay warm. So far, they'd seen no sigh of Onu, and Ghaji was wondering if the captain simply had no interest in meeting Diran and Sir Leontis, or if the man was still sleeping, exhausted after staying late at the tavern last night after Ghaji and the others had departed. Onu had certainly seemed the type to spend the night carousing.
Ghaji looked at Diran and gave his friend a sly smile. "So, did you sleep well last night?"
Diran returned the smile. "As well as you, I expect."
"Asenka's a wonderful woman."
"That she is."
Ghaji was happy for his friend. While he doubted Diran would ever truly be over Makala, he was moving on with his life, and that was a positive sign. These last few months the priest had been carrying so much guilt over Makala's transformation into a vampire-a transformation he blamed himself for-that at times Ghaji thought the burden would prove too much for him. Ghaji knew Diran still felt responsible for Makala's current state, but perhaps he no longer blamed himself for it. It was a small change, perhaps, but Ghaji thought it an important one.
The two companions stood in silence for a while after that, watching as the crew worked around them. Ghaji wasn't sure what to make of the way the men and women of the Turnabout ignored them, almost as if they were invisible. Were they simply absorbed in their tasks, or did they transport cargo of a questionable nature often enough that they'd learned that the less they knew, the better? The latter, Ghaji suspected.
"So our merry little band has increased by one," Ghaji said. "I'm a bit surprised Leontis joined us. He doesn't seem the sociable type."
"Look who's talking." Diran's gentle smile alleviated whatever sting his words might otherwise had held.
"There's something about the man that I don't quite trust, Diran. You vouch for him, and that's good enough for me, but there's still something about him that sets my teeth on edge." Ghaji did trust Diran, more than he'd ever trusted anyone or anything in his life. Nevertheless, he hoped that the priest would take the opportunity to tell him why Leontis had decided to travel with them. If Ghaji were going to fight by someone's side, he wanted to know as much about the person as possible.
Diran seemed to consider for a moment before responding. "Leontis told me his motivations in confidence, and I cannot reveal them-not even to you, my friend. Suffice it to say that he's searching for something, and I hope to help him find it."
Diran's explanation didn't suffice at all, but Ghaji decided not to make an issue of it-at least, not right now. "As you well know, I'm no sailor, but something strikes me as odd about the crew, and I don't mean the way they're acting as if we don't exist."
"There aren't enough of them," Diran said.
Ghaji nodded. "Exactly."
"A ship this size should have a crew of sixty or so. But it appears that the Turnabout is manned by only twenty sailors. And there's something else…"
"The way the air ripples near each of the masts," Ghaji said.
It was Diran's turn to nod. It was subtle, and Ghaji doubted that anyone not on board would notice, but all three masts had some sort of distortion in the air behind them, resembling the effect created by heat rising off desert ground.
"Kolbyr's harbormaster said the Turnabout was rumored to travel more swiftly than a normal galleon should," Ghaji said. "He suspected the ship is magically enhanced, though he wasn't sure in what manner."
"Magic is definitely at work here," Diran said. "But what kind and for what purpose, I cannot say. Perhaps Tresslar can-"
"Can do what?" the artificer asked.
Diran and Ghaji turned to see their companions-Leontis included-coming toward them, led by the dwarf first mate. Bartalan Thokk was a typical member of his race: squat, broad-shouldered, powerfully muscled, with a dour countenance hidden behind a full reddish-brown beard that held more than a few flecks of gray. He dressed like the other crewmembers in thick tunic and trousers, boots, and fur-lined cloak with the hood pulled up to further conceal his face. Ghaji noted the absence of jewelry-no rings on the dwarf's fingers, no bracelets or pendants, no ear or nose rings. Dwarves respected hard work and wealth, and they appreciated the finer things life had to offer. They tended to display their wealth by carrying well-made weapons and wearing beautiful jewelry and fine clothes. To dwarves, making a show of one's wealth proved an individual's success and power, though they always kept their greatest treasures hidden from anyone outside their family. But Thokk presented no such display, and Ghaji wondered if that were due to practical reasons-such as the risk of ruining fine clothing while doing shipboard chores-or if there were perhaps another, more personal reason for the dwarf's modest presentation.
Ghaji was about to explain to Tresslar when Diran cut in. "Nothing at the moment, my friend. Something far more important must have prompted you to forsake the warmth of your cabins and join us above deck."
Ghaji saw Tresslar glance toward the Turnabout's masts-or more specially, the distortion in the air behind them-and narrow his eyes suspiciously. Ghaji should've known, as Diran obviously had, that the artificer wouldn't need them to alert him to the presence of magic.
Tresslar turned back to Diran. "We're not sure why we're here, but First Mate Thokk was most insistent we accompany him." The artificer sounded even more irritated than usual, and considering how cold it was, Ghaji didn't blame h
im. The Turnabout's cabins weren't the most comfortable of accommodations, but they beat standing on deck exposed to the frigid wind."
Ghaji looked to Solus. The psiforged wore a fur cloak like the others, though Ghaji doubted he even felt the cold, let alone was bothered by it. Solus could easily discover what Thokk intended simply by reading the dwarf's mind, but as Ghaji had learned after their meeting with Captain Onu last night, the construct had decided not to read anyone's mind without express permission to do so. Ghaji had tried to explain to Solus what an advantage it would be to divine the thoughts of potential adversaries, but the psiforged refused to be persuaded. He said Tresslar had told him it wasn't polite to read people's minds without permission, and that the memories he had inherited from his kalashtar makers concurred. Thus, Solus had decided to stop secretly reading minds, and that was that.
While on one level Ghaji understood and respected Solus's choice, he couldn't help also feeling frustrated. Warforged in general tended to think of right and wrong in a simplistic, cut-and-dried fashion, almost the way a small child might. And since Solus had little experience of the world beyond the interior of Mount Luster, the child analogy was more than apt. As he matured, Solus might eventually come to understand that there were times when good manners needed give way to sheer pragmatism, but that wasn't going to help the rest of the companions now.
It's a good thing Solus is abstaining from sneaking a peek into others' minds, Ghaji thought. The psiforged wouldn't like to know what Ghaji was thinking about him at the moment.
"We've just about put enough distance between ourselves and Kolbyr," the dwarf said in a voice that rumbled like distant earth tremors. "The captain will want to get underway in earnest."
Diran gave Ghaji a questioning look, but the half-orc warrior only shrugged.
