Sea of Death botf-3

by Tim Waggoner

  "Do you remember what Tusya used to say about that? 'Sometimes cold comfort is the only kind we get in this life.'"

  "I remember. I found it a rather facile saying at the time, and I find it even more so now."

  "As an assassin, your training centered entirely on control," Leontis said. "Control of your emotions, your body, your weaponry, your victim, and the circumstances under which you would confront him… Control is also vital to the Purified. We attempt to purge ourselves of negative emotions and desires, and strive to adhere to a strict code of moral behavior. Control is even more important for priests. It allows us to open ourselves to the power of the Silver Flame so that we might become effective conduits for its holy energy. But we mustn't forget what Tusya taught us."

  Diran didn't want to say the words. He wanted to hold onto the icy fury that had encased his heart. But he found himself speaking them nevertheless. Words he'd first heard years ago around a campfire near the bank of the Thrane River. "Fire consumes wood for its fuel, and in so doing, the wood is transformed. It becomes one with the fire, fulfilling its true purpose. To serve the Flame well, we must willingly give ourselves over to its heat and light."

  "I've been thinking about this a great deal lately-for obvious reasons." Leontis gave Diran a rueful smile. "Evil attempts to control the fates of others for its own selfish ends. That's what you did when you were an assassin. You killed because Emon Gorsedd accepted money for your services and sent you forth to slay whoever his client chose. Good, on the other hand, seeks to preserve the rights of individuals to choose their own fates. It tries to teach by example, rather than force others to order their lives as it wishes. That's who you are now, Diran. You are Purified, a servant of the Flame, and a force for Good in a world that sorely needs people like you. Don't let your grief turn you back into a heartless killer. You have a choice in this matter. Some of us do not."

  Leontis put his hand on Diran's shoulder and squeezed once before turning and walking away.

  Diran remained standing at the prow for some time after Leontis's departure, thinking over all that his fellow priest had said. He had a good idea what Asenka might say if she were present, could almost imagine hearing her speak the words.

  We had little time together, Diran Bastiaan, but what we had was good. Don't spoil it by turning my memory into a millstone around your neck. There are people-good people-depending on you. Don't you dare let them down because you're too wrapped up in sorrow and self-pity. You're a Lhazaarite, and you know our way: Live hard, love hard, die well. As far as I'm concerned, I did all three. Mourn me if you must, but you're still alive and you have work to do. So get to it!

  Despite his grief, Diran smiled. He then turned away from the sea and the wind and headed off toward the passengers' quarters.

  Diran knocked on the door to Tresslar's cabin.

  "Go away! I'm busy!"

  "It's me," Diran said.

  Tresslar opened the door. The artificer gave the priest an appraising frown. "Did you finally realize you aren't to blame for what happened?"

  "I could ask you the same, holed up in your cabin, working feverishly on your magic items…" Diran smiled to take any sting out of his words. "You aren't to blame, either. None of us are."

  Tresslar's frown eased, and he looked haggard, far older than his sixty-odd years. "If I hadn't lost the Amahau, none of this would've happened."

  "My former teacher used to say that if is like a double-edged blade: it cuts two ways. It can spark imagination and creativity or cause regret and sorrow. It all depends on how you wield it."

  Tresslar smiled. "Wise words." The artificer let out a long sigh. "Very well. Let us look to the future, eh? I'm still working on restoring Ghaji's elemental axe. I think I've found a way to infuse a fire elemental within the metal, but I still need some time."

  "That's good, but I've come to speak with you about a different magical artifact. One that I believe you removed from Thokk before we buried him."

  Tresslar looked suddenly uncomfortable. "You speak of the Oathbinder. To an artificer, burying a mystic object with the dead is a terrible waste. We would rather our greatest enemies take the devices we create than have them never used again. It's a way for a small piece of ourselves to live on after our deaths." He lowered his gaze. "I didn't say anything about taking the Oathbinder because I didn't want anyone to think I was robbing the dead. None of you are artificers… I was afraid you wouldn't understand."

  "I do understand," Diran said, "and I'm glad you had the foresight to salvage Thokk's medallion. I think I know how we might put it to use."

  Ghaji found Yvka in their cabin. She sat cross-legged on their sleeping pallet, her left sleeve rolled up to expose her dragonmark. She gazed down upon the swirling design, the fingers of her right hand poised above it, as if she wanted to touch the mark but was afraid to.

  She looked up as Ghaji closed the hatch and crossed over to the pallet. The cabin was small, but compared to the cramped quarters on the Zephyr, it was nearly palatial. Ghaji sat next to Yvka. He wanted to give her a kiss and put his arm around her, but he didn't. They had things to discuss, and one kiss would lead to another, which in turn would lead to something else, and before long all thought of talk would be forgotten. Better to maintain a certain distance for now. But before Ghaji could say anything, Yvka spoke.

  "This changes everything, you know."

  Ghaji understood that she was talking about her dragonmark, but that was all he understood. "No, I don't know. Tell me."

  Yvka looked at Ghaji for a long time, her face unreadable, but her eyes revealed the inner struggle she was going through. Finally, she told him everything-about going to the Culinarian to meet with Zivon, how the Fury struck while she was there, and how her dragonmark had manifested during her fight with the half-elf.

  "Zivon not only wanted me to regain possession of the Zephyr-for though I've used the vessel for decades, she belongs to the Shadow Network-he also wanted me to deliver Tresslar's dragonwand to them… as well as Solus."

  Ghaji wished he was shocked by Yvka's words, but he wasn't. The Shadow Network had a reputation for absolute pragmatism in all things, but most especially when it came to the acquisition of the organization's twin loves: power and profit.

  "And what did you tell him?" Ghaji asked.

  "I tried to put him off by pretending that I wanted to negotiate a better reward for myself. But then the Fury overwhelmed Zivon and our discussion ended when he tried to kill me. After Diran exorcised the Fury-demon, Zivon regained his senses. He was so pleased by the appearance of my dragonmark that he said no more about Solus or the dragonwand."

  "But that doesn't mean he's forgotten about them, does it?"

  Yvka shook her head. "The Network never forgets anything. If they want Solus and the wand, they will stop at nothing to get them. Whether I deliver them or not. They'll simply send someone else, and if that person fails, they'll keep sending new people until someone finally succeeds. But a dragonmark, even a Lesser one, raises my status in the Network. I may be able to bargain with the Hierarchs so that they'll… overlook their interest in Solus and the dragonwand."

  Ghaji didn't like where this was headed. "Bargain with what?"

  "My services. I've worked hard for more years than you've been alive to earn the freedom to roam the Principalities as I wish. And the Network has allowed me to retain my liberty as long as I furthered its interests. But dragonmarks are a valuable commodity, and the Hierarchs prefer to keep a tight rein on those individuals who possess them. I've given the Network both Grimwall and Mount Luster. Now I will give them myself-but only if they'll leave Solus and the dragonwand alone."

  "It sounds like indentured servitude! I admire that you want to protect Solus and Tresslar-assuming the artificer ever gets his wand back for anyone to take it away from him again-but do you really believe the Network will live up to its end of the bargain?"

  "It may be difficult for someone not part of the Network to believe, but
once the Hierarchs make a bargain, they keep it. Especially within the organization. We have a saying: 'True loyalty is the only item that cannot be bought.' That's why it's so highly prized in the Network."

  Ghaji understood now why Yvka had been so reluctant to talk with him the last few days, and why she'd seemed to be hiding something more important than usual. On one level he was relieved to know the truth, and he was pleased that she'd finally told him something of her life working for the Shadow Network. But he also feared the implications of what she intended to do.

  "So just how tight a rein will these Hierarchs wish to keep on you? And what will this mean for us?"

  "It will mean the end of my freedom, at least, the kind I enjoy now. As for you and me…" She looked away, tears forming in the corner of her soulful eyes. "The Hierarchs are unhappy enough that I have friends outside the Network as it is. Once I start working for them as a dragonmarked operative… I just don't know."

  There were so many things Ghaji wanted to say to Yvka. In the end, too many. Instead he took her in his arms and held her tight. Holding eventually led to kissing, and kissing in turn led to other things, and for a time the two lovers forgot their troubles as they lost themselves in each other.

  And the Turnabout sailed on, slicing through the waves like a finely honed sword as the elemental galleon ran full out for Regalport.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Moonlight painted the water lapping at Regalport's central dock a gleaming silver. Nathifa thought of Diran Bastiaan and his companions-who surely were on their way to Greentarn even now-and she hoped the reflected moonlight wasn't an omen of ill fortune. The sorceress told herself to forget such foolish thoughts and have faith in the machinations of her Queen. Even if Bastiaan and the others managed to arrive this night, there was nothing they could do to stop her. Failure was impossible.

  Still, the water's silver glimmer seemed to say otherwise.

  Nathifa stood on the dock next to where the Zephyr was berthed. With Skarm left behind on Trebaz Sinara and most likely dead, Haaken had taken over piloting the elemental sloop. Since the spells that allowed one to activate and control the vessel's wind elemental were built into the pilot's chair, no special skill with magic was necessary. In his previous life as commander of the Coldhearts, Haaken had captained a ship called the Maelstrom, and he proved quite adept at piloting the Zephyr, so much so that Nathifa had no regrets over abandoning Skarm. In fact, it was something of a relief to be rid of the bumbling fool.

  They'd approached Regalport at dusk, but the bay had been cluttered with fishing boats, pleasure craft, and trading vessels, and night had fallen by the time they'd maneuvered through the maze of ships and managed to reach the central dock. No berths were available, so Haaken jumped over the side, took shark form, located a small sail boat and bit through the mooring line. He gave the vessel a shove, and the boat drifted away from the dock, making room for the Zephyr.

  Once the sloop had taken the sail boat's place, Makala stepped onto the dock and tied the Zephyr's lines to rusted iron cleats. Just as she finished, there came the sound of boots pounding on wood as two men ran down the dock toward them, swords drawn.

  "Here now! What do you think you're doing?" one of the men shouted.

  Guards, Nathifa thought. What a nuisance.

  "Slay them," she told Makala.

  Grinning, the vampire stepped forward to meet the guards' advance. She backhanded one man, sending him into the water for Haaken to deal with. She grabbed hold of the other by his throat, slammed him down onto the dock, and fell upon him like a starving animal. Moments later, both guards were dead, their bodies tossed into the sea.

  Nathifa had kept watch for other guards while her servants dispatched the men, but she'd sensed none. Neverthless, she ordered Makala and Haaken to perform a quick search of the docks and slay any other guards they might find. A short while later, the vampire and the wereshark returned to the Zephyr, the blood covering their mouths and hands telling Nathifa that the docks were now clear for them to go to work.

  Haaken and Makala brought up the statue of Nerthatch from the Zephyr's hold. Centuries ago, the evil priest had attempted to raise the bodies of those who'd lost their lives in the unforgiving waters of the Gulf of Ingjald to create an undead army. This night, Nathifa would use the priest's petrified form to raise something entirely different-and far more deadly-from the frigid depths of the Lhazaar.

  Makala had hold of the top half of Nerthatch's stone body, and she carried it with ease. Haaken gripped the lower half, but as he was in human form, he was having a harder time of bearing his share of the statue's weight. Protruding from the statue's chest was the hilt of a silver dagger. Both Makala and Haaken were most careful to avoid touching it. It took several minutes for the two of them to get the statue onto the dock and positioned facing seaward, as Nathifa wished.

  Once the statue was in place, Haaken said, "You still haven't told us what we're going to do tonight. But whatever it is, wouldn't it make more sense to do it out in the bay aboard the Zephyr? That way we'd be certain no one could interfere before we were finished."

  "Mere servants such as yourselves could never appreciate the full majesty of Vol's grand design," Nathifa said. "Suffice it to say that the mystic rite we are going to conduct needs to be performed on a passageway between land and sea."

  Haaken continued to look her with a blank expression on his face.

  "A passageway such as this dock," Nathifa added.

  Haaken grinned as his face lit up with comprehension.

  Nathifa sighed. If the imbecile wasn't so useful when in wereshark form, she might've slain him on the spot for his stupidity. But no, as satisfying as it would be, she couldn't harm the idiot. Haaken Sprull had a very important role to play in what was about to occur.

  "I've never been to Regalport," Makala said. "It's impressive." The vampire had turned away from Nathifa and Haaken and now stood gazing shoreward.

  Nathifa had been too caught up in the excitement of knowing that everything she had sacrificed so much for was finally on the verge of being fulfilled to pay much attention as they'd approached Regalport. But now she turned and for the first time took a good look at the city that was known as the Jewel of the Principalities.

  Nathifa and her brothers had traveled here once, over a century ago. Regalport had been a major city even then, one that both Kolbyr and Perhata had attempted in their own small, inadequate ways to emulate when they'd founded the cities that bore their names. But Regalport had grown a great deal since Nathifa's breathing days. Music and laughter drifted out from numerous dockside taverns, and everbright lanterns dotted the city like a field of stars that had fallen from the heavens. There were so many buildings that the cityscape resembled a mountain range silhouetted against the night sky, and Nathifa was surprised to find herself feeling a twinge of homesickness for her lair in the Hoarfrost Mountains. She'd thought herself beyond such emotions.

  Regalport was full to bursting with life, and Nathifa could sense its energy, almost see it shining in the darkness like a miniature sun, warm and glowing and above all, alive. For an instant she questioned what she had come here to do. What purpose would destroying this life serve? How would it grant her desire for vengeance against her brother Kolbyr, dead now for a hundred years? How long had it taken for Regalport to become the great city it was now? How many men and women had worked to make it so? For the first time in her long life, Nathifa realized how easy destruction was and how arduous the process of creation, how fragile the result. Destruction was the act of a moment. Simple, mindless, pointless. But creation was complex, thoughtful, and shaped toward an ultimate goal: to make meaning. Destruction was, in the most profound sense, meaningless.

  "Don't tell me that after everything we've been through you're losing your nerve."

  Makala's words startled Nathifa out of her thoughts, and the lich glared at the vampire with her sole remaining eye. "Stand guard while I prepare the ritual. Once I have beg
un, I must not be interrupted. Kill anyone who approaches." Without waiting for Makala to respond, Nathifa turned to Haaken Sprull. "Stand behind the statue of Nerthatch and place your hands upon the shoulders. Once you've done that, transform into your hybrid form. I shall begin my spell shortly afterward."

  The sea raider looked skeptically at the sorceress. "That's all? I just have to… stand there?"

  Nathifa allowed herself a slight smile. "Your role is a bit more complicated than that, but you are essentially correct. Now do it."

  Haaken gave Makala a look that said he was beginning to doubt their mistress's sanity, but he did at Nathifa commanded. He stepped behind the statue of the priest, placed his hands about the stone shoulders, and shifted to his transitional form of half man, half shark.

  Nathifa then reached inside her dark substance and brought forth the dragonwand. She had carried the Amahau inside her during the entire journey from Trebaz Sinara, the artifact full to bursting with the mystic power she had drained from Paganus's hoard. Having that much magical force contained inside her had been uncomfortable, and she felt relieved that the dragonwand was no longer housed within her darkness. The Amahau fairly hummed, so full of power was it, but Nathifa knew that the dragonwand could've held even more energy. If only she'd had more time in the crypt. But she hadn't, so however much power she'd managed to take would have to serve. She only hoped it would prove sufficient.

  The lich leveled the dragonwand at Haaken and concentrated on releasing the Amahau's stored energy. A bolt of crackling energy surged forth from the mouth of the dragonhead at the tip of the wand, lanced through the air, and struck the wereshark just below the point where his dorsal fin emerged from his back. Haaken bellowed in pain, muscles spasming as mystic power filled his being. He thrashed back and forth like a captive beast trying to escape a trap, but he was unable to remove his clawed hands from the statue's shoulders. His flesh was bound to the stone now, and he would not be able to let go until the enchantment was ended. Nathifa continued releasing magical energy into Haaken's body as she at last began chanting a spell that she'd learned a century ago.