by Tim Waggoner
Prince Moren reached out and lifted Espial off the table. The skull was about to serve a third purpose. Nathifa’s lifeforce was contained inside, and Moren—like the rest of his cursed crew—fed on the life essence of others. And the Prince was hungry.
Moren raised the skull to his mouth and, as if Espial were nothing more than a piece of rotten fruit, he pressed his decayed teeth onto its obsidian surface and bit down hard.
He chewed, swallowed, and grinned as black juice dribbled over his dry, leathery lips and onto the exposed bone of his chin. Delicious.
He took another bite.
Nathifa screamed.
But not for very long.
Diran watched as the lich’s form broke apart into scraps of shadow that swirled about like black leaves before dissipating like smoke. He didn’t know how—his arrowhead certainly hadn’t done the deed—but he knew that Nathifa had been destroyed. Tresslar rushed to Diran’s side and helped him to a sitting position. The priest looked out over the bay. The greenish mist that had covered the water was receding, and Diran could sense the presence of an evil much greater than Nathifa withdrawing. He was too hurt to worry about it now. Whatever the mist was, and whatever role it had played in the events here tonight would have to remain a mystery for the time being. Diran had more important tasks to tend to. He placed his hand over his heart, closed his eyes, and willed the healing power of the Silver Flame to work its divine magic through him. He then repeated the procedure for Ghaji, and when both men were whole and healthy once more, Tresslar helped them both to stand.
Makala stood on the dock, gazing out to the sea. Diran didn’t know what she was looking at, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He turned to Leontis, fearing they would still have a battle on their hands if the lycanthropic priest remained in the grip of a killing frenzy. But Leontis stood apart from Haaken’s ravaged body. He was covered with blood, but he was human once again, his fury spent. Without speaking, Diran, Ghaji, and Tresslar walked over to examine Haaken. Makala joined them a moment later.
Haaken had also returned to human form, but he was a grisly sight. His chest and abdomen had been ripped open, ribs broken, internal organs shredded or torn out and cast aside by Leontis in his bestial fury. There was blood everywhere, and Haaken was covered in it, so much so that his skin looked black in the moonlight. But even mutilated as he was, Haaken was not dead.
Haaken coughed, and a froth of blood oozed from between his lips. Then he spoke in a gurgling, wet whisper.
“I can … already feel myself … healing.” He coughed again and swallowed. “Hurts. But … I can take it. I’m … going to kill every last one of you … bastards.”
Ghaji had retrieved his axe, and with a thought he caused its flame to ignite. “Big talk from a man who’s been gutted like a fish. Since Leontis has already gone to the trouble to fillet you, maybe I should go ahead and cook you.” Ghaji started forward, but Diran placed a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder to stop him.
“Fire won’t kill him, Ghaji. You know that.”
“Maybe not normally,” the half-orc growled. “But wounded as he is, flame just might kill him. Let’s try it and see.” He glared at Haaken. “If nothing else, it’ll make me feel better.”
Diran shook his head. “There’s only one way to be sure.” The priest walked over to the statue of Nerthatch and gripped the hilt of the silver dagger protruding from the chest. He pulled, and though the dagger was wedged tight, Diran managed to work it free. He then walked over to Haaken and stood by the lycanthrope’s side. Haaken’s heart was visible, and though it had several large gashes in it, the organ continued to beat, and Diran could see that the gashes were already beginning to heal over.
“Are you going to … stab me?” Haaken asked. His voice had grown stronger and steadier in the few moments since he’d last spoken. “Coward!” Haaken spat a gob of bloody sputum at Diran, but it fell far short of hitting the priest.
“Go ahead, Diran,” Ghaji said. “If he heals, he’ll just go on killing. Worse, he’ll spread his infection to others. He doesn’t deserve to live. He’s just another damned monster.”
Diran looked at Haaken, then he looked at Leontis, and finally at Makala. He remembered what Leontis had told him during the voyage from Trebaz Sinara.
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.
“Let the city watch or the Sea Dragons decide what to do with him,” Diran said. “I’ve had enough of death for a while.” He turned his back on Haaken and started to walk away, but Makala took hold of his wrist and stopped him.
Diran turned to her, a questioning look on his face. She reached out and gently took the dagger from his hand. As soon as her flesh came in contact with the silver hilt, her hand began to sizzle and smoke, but she gritted her teeth and held onto the blade. She stepped over to Haaken’s side, knelt down, and plunged the blade into his heart. Haaken’s eyes went wide and he let out a last gasp as he died.
Makala stood and turned back to Diran.
“I never did like the son of a whore.”
Ten days later, in the hour just before dawn, the companions once more stood upon Regalport’s central dock. A longboat was moored on the dock’s northern side, and the Turnabout, whole and hardy once more, floated out in the middle of the bay. Onu, wearing his human shape and clad in his signature crimson jacket, stood gazing at the northern horizon.
“Looks like we’re going to have good sailing weather today,” the changeling said. He glanced at Hinto for confirmation, and the halfling nodded.
Diran smiled. “It seems as if you’re well on your way to becoming a true seaman, Onu.”
Onu reached down and patted Hinto on the back. “My recent gains in nautical knowledge are due entirely to the tutelage of my new first mate.”
“Do you really think you’ll be able to pay off Thokk’s debt?” Ghaji asked. “From what you’ve told us, he spoke little about it to you. Do you even know where to start?”
Onu shrugged. “As to whether or not I’ll succeed, only the gods of fortune may say. But I must try.” The changeling smiled. “It’s my own debt to Thokk, you see. We’ll return to Kolbyr and begin there. Thokk did a great deal of business in that city, and perhaps there are some there who knew him better than I. At any rate, it seems a logical place to start.” The changeling looked at Tresslar and smiled. “Besides, I have a passenger to conduct there.”
The artificer looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Even with the aid of the best artificers in Regalport, I haven’t made much progress cleansing the Amahau of the taint it incurred when I used it to drain the mystic energy from the statue of Nerthatch. But I believe there’s a chance that the magic of Illyia’s water spheres might prove effective where other approaches have failed. Water does have inherent cleansing properties, you know, and if I can adapt her spheres—”
“You want to do a lot more to her spheres than adapt them,” Hinto said, grinning.
Tresslar scowled at the halfling, but then he just shrugged and smiled sheepishly.
“I think it’s sweet,” Yvka said. “But be wary. I’ve managed to convince the Hierarchs of House Thuranni to … table their interest in the Amahau, especially now that it’s been tainted. But if you do manage to repair the wand, the Hierarchs might decide to renew their interest in obtaining it.”
“I’ll be careful, Yvka,” Tresslar said. “Thanks for the warning.”
The elf-woman turned to Solus. “The Hierarchs are still most interested in obtaining your services, though. While they’ve abandoned the idea of doing so through force or trickery, they’ve authorized me to make an offer of employment to you, and the compensation would be most handsome indeed.”
“Please thank the Hierarchs for me, Yvka, but I must decline. The uses House Thuranni would put me to would be no different that what Aldarik Cathmore and Galharath would’ve done with me. Though I was gi
ven life some time ago, I have only recently begun to learn what it means to truly live. I believe I can continue to best do that be remaining my own person. I hope you understand.”
Yvka smiled. “I do indeed, my friend. I not only understand your decision, I applaud it.”
“Besides, Solus is going with us,” Hinto said. “I’m going to teach him to be a sailor.”
“I find the open sea calming,” Solus said. “The thoughts of its denizens are simple and unclouded by negative emotions like deceit and greed.”
“You’ve never run into any pirates,” Tresslar muttered.
“I fully understand what Solus means,” Leontis said, looking toward the eastern horizon. “The world below the waves is a very different place from the world of land, air, and sun. It has its own rhythms of life, rules of existence, and codes of behavior. In many ways it’s a much harsher world than this one, but it’s more honest as well.”
There was nothing else to do then than to say farewell to those who were bound for the Turnabout. Words were exchanged, as well as handshakes and hugs. Then Onu, Hinto, Tresslar, and Solus boarded the longboat. The halfling untied the mooring lines, and the psiforged used his telekinetic powers to back the boat away from the dock.
Onu called out, “Good sailing to us all!” Then Solus propelled the longboat across the bay toward the waiting elemental galleon. It didn’t take long for the party to board the vessel, and the ship set sail soon afterward. The remaining companions watched as their friends sailed out of Regalport’s bay. The vessel looked like a normal galleon, but that was just its illusion in effect. Once out to sea, Onu would order the air elementals to be activated, and the ship would head off at full speed toward Kolbyr.
“I’m surprised the shipwrights were able to repair the Turnabout in such a short time,” Ghaji said. “Actually, given the severity of the damage she sustained, it’s a wonder they even tried.”
“Prince Ryger was most grateful for our efforts to stop the wereshark invasion,” Diran said. “I imagine he instructed the shipwrights to make every effort to do the job as quickly as possible.”
Yvka smiled. “Or else.”
Diran had mixed feelings about the aftermath of the wereshark invasion. Solus had managed to drive off the weresharks that Nathifa had summoned, but the monsters had killed many of Regalport’s citizens before fleeing. The lycanthropes had infected many more, and Prince Ryger had ordered those now cursed with the taint of the wereshark to be rounded up and imprisoned. Ryger had wanted to execute them, though the Prince took no joy in the thought, but Diran had talked him out of it. The goal was to prevent the newly infected lycanthropes from slaying anyone or further spreading their contagion, not to kill them for possessing an affliction over which they had no control. It wasn’t a satisfying solution, but it would have to do. Diran remembered once more Tusya’s words: Sometimes cold comfort is the only kind we get in this life.
So true.
“It is time that I take my leave as well,” Leontis said.
Diran turned to his friend, surprised by his fellow priest’s pronouncement. “I take it you no longer wish me to kill you?”
Leontis smiled. “Perhaps another day. I’ve spent much time over the last ten days exploring my new abilities and trying to decide what, if anything, I should do with them. I meant what I said earlier about the sea, Diran. It’s … different there. Good and Evil still exist, of course, but the expressions they take are unique to their world. Perhaps I have been cursed, but what I choose to do with that curse is up to me. Look at you. You were born with a talent for knife work that borders on genius. You were sold into slavery, raised by a brotherhood of assassins, and implanted with an evil spirit to make certain you remained cruel and heartless. You’ve since managed to put that dark past behind you and dedicate your life to helping others, but instead of discarding your knowledge of the art of killing, you now use your skills in service of the Silver Flame. You’ve taught me that it’s possible to employ darkness in the fight against Evil. Perhaps I am no longer one of the Purified, but that doesn’t mean I still can’t fight for the Flame in my own way.”
The priest paused and smiled, and his teeth seemed slightly sharper than they had a moment ago.
“Besides, I used to hunt lycanthropes on land, where they are few and far between. But the seas are full of the creatures. The hunting will be good there.”
Diran wasn’t certain what to make of his friend’s words, but before he could think further on the matter, Leontis disrobed, dropped his clothes to the dock, waved once, then turned and dove into the water. The priest entered the sea as a man, but the creature that swam away was an amalgamation of wolf and shark.
Ghaji stepped to Diran’s side. “Do you regret letting him go?”
“He seemed to learn a measure of control over his bestial side during his time with us. And as he said, the sea is a very different world from ours. Perhaps he was destined for it all along.”
“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Ghaji said.
Diran smiled. “I never said it did.”
“I’m afraid I must go as well,” Yvka said.
The two friends turned to the elf-woman.
“Will you be gone long?” Ghaji asked.
“It’s difficult to say. The Hierarchs would prefer that I reveal as little about my destination and goals as possible. But they had the Zephyr repaired, so she’s just as swift as she ever was. I’ll return as fast as I can. I promise.”
Diran looked at Ghaji, attempting to gauge his partner’s reaction. The priest knew Yvka’s tendency toward secrecy was something of a sore point with his friend, and now that she possessed a dragonmark, the Hierarchs of House Thuranni were going to send her on missions of greater import than before. Which, in turn, meant she could tell Ghaji even less about where she was going or what she was supposed to do there once she arrived.
But Ghaji smiled and simply said, “I wish you success. Come back to me when you can.”
The two lovers embraced and kissed, and Diran knew Ghaji had made his peace with Yvka’s lifestyle.
“I won’t be going alone, however,” Yvka said. “The Hierarchs have assigned me a partner.”
Coils of white vapor drifted onto the dock, gathered together, and coalesced into human form.
Makala grinned. “Guess who it is?”
Diran turned to Yvka and Ghaji, and from the amused look on the half-orc’s face, it was clear he’d known about this development for some time.
“Leontis isn’t the only one who’s decided to use his abilities for good. Well … assuming you can term House Thuranni’s goals as good. But at least I’ll have a purpose in life—or undeath.”
Makala stepped forward and took both of Diran’s hands in hers. “I just want to say that I’m so sorry about Asenka. If I could’ve stopped Haaken—”
“Don’t,” Diran interrupted. “You weren’t in control of your actions then.” He smiled sadly. “Asenka would’ve understood.”
“Well, I am in control now, and I’ll do everything in my power to resist the darkest part of my nature.”
“I may be able to help with that,” Diran said. He reached back into his cloak and pulled an object from within one of its pockets.
Makala let go of his hands and stepped back, as if she feared Diran was going to attack her.
“Don’t worry. It’s not something that will harm you.” Diran held up a lump of misshapen iron on the end of a chain. “This is the magic medallion Thokk used to make certain no one could reveal … a certain secret.” Even now, Diran could not speak the truth about the elemental galleon, even though Makala already knew it. “Tresslar called it an Oathbinder. He salvaged it from Thokk’s body before we buried him.”
Makala looked at the Oathbinder warily. “I don’t understand.”
“I want you to swear on this medallion that you will never take an innocent life,” Diran said.
Makala stared at him in disbelief. “I don’t see how a simp
le promise—even one that I’m magically bound to keep—can combat the bloodthirst, Diran. It’s … too strong.”
“That’s why I asked Tresslar to make some adjustments. It took him longer than he thought, and he only finished a few hours ago. I asked Tresslar to increase the power of any oath sworn on the object so that the swearer would be unable to break that oath, no matter what the provocation—even if magic of a very high order was used against the swearer. Magic such as that contained in a vampire’s curse.”
Makala looked upon the Oathbinder with mounting wonder. “You mean if I swear on that thing, I won’t be able to harm anyone, even if I want to?”
“You won’t be able to take an innocent life,” Diran said. “It will be up to you to interpret those words for yourself. But I trust you to interpret them wisely.”
“Are you certain it will work?”
“Tresslar thinks it will, though he said such an oath will use up all the remaining magic within the object, rendering it forever useless afterward.” Diran held out the object. “Place your hand upon the Oathbinder, Makala. That is, if you want to.”
Makala hesitated for a moment before laying her hand atop the iron medallion.
“Speak these words: I shall never take an innocent life, no matter how long I may exist.”
Makala repeated the words, her voice quavering slightly. Light glittered across the surface of the medallion, and when it was finished, the iron collapsed into gray dust in Diran’s palm, leaving only the chain unaffected. Diran shook the dust off his hand, and it was carried out over the water by the breeze. He then tucked the chain back into his cloak.
“It is done.”
“I don’t feel any different,” Makala said doubtfully.
“As with all things, only time will tell,” Diran said.
