[Blade of the Flame 01] - Thieves of Blood

by Tim Waggoner - (ebook by Undead)

  Onkar didn’t appear to move, but one moment he was just standing there and the next he had Makala tossed over his shoulder. “Well, it’s been lovely, but I have to take my leave. The Black Fleet’s style is hit and run, and now that we’ve finished hitting, it’s time to start running.”

  “Hold, Onkar!” Diran raised his hand high and a silvery glow began to emanate from his palm as he summoned the holy power of the Silver Flame itself to repel the vampire. Onkar averted his gaze, but he held his ground.

  “Before you do that, priest, take a look at the cart.”

  Diran, Ghaji, and Yvka looked at the bodies of the men and women who remained in the back of the cart. They were covered by a squirming, writhing blanket of rats, as were the victims lying on the ground.

  “My little friends are just crawling right now,” Onkar said, “but if you make even the slightest move against me, I’ll tell them to start biting. Do you know how long it’d take that many rats to strip the flesh off their bones?”

  Diran glared at the vampire commander, silvery light waxing and waning in his palm, as if it couldn’t decide whether or not to be born. Finally, Diran closed his fist around the silvery spark and snuffed it out.

  “Not long,” the priest admitted and lowered his hand to his side.

  “That’s right,” Onkar said. “Don’t any of you try to follow me. My furry friends will keep watching you long after I’m gone.” The raider commander inclined his head in a mocking manner. “A good night to you all.”

  The vampire turned, and with an unconscious Makala still slung over his shoulder, he began walking away. Though Onkar didn’t appear to be hurrying, he moved far more swiftly down the street than he should have, and then the vampire turned a corner and was lost to the night.

  Ghaji turned to Diran, intending to ask his friend what they should do next, but the priest was staring intently at the mound of vermin crawling over the unconscious men and women who remained in the cart. The rats seemed to stare back at Diran with their beady black eyes, and Ghaji wondered if the creatures truly would still bite now that the vampire had departed or if Onkar had been lying to them, in which case they were letting him get away for nothing.

  “The rats are under evil’s influence, though they are but pawns,” Diran said. “The situation has some distinct parallels to possession, though it isn’t precisely analogous. Even so…”

  Diran raised his hand and this time the Silver Flame instantly blossomed forth from his palm. The power of the Silver Flame blazed outward, casting its bright blue-white light onto the squirming pile of rodents. The rats screeched, squealed and began scuttling frantically over the raiders’ unconscious captives. At first Ghaji feared Diran’s ploy hadn’t worked and the vermin were even now beginning to gnaw hunks of flesh from their victims’ bodies, then the rats’ exertions began to lessen until finally the small beasts stopped moving altogether and became calm.

  Diran closed his hand into a fist and the silvery flame went out. A moment passed, then one by one the rats began jumping down from the cart and fleeing toward whatever shadows they could find. When the last rat was gone, Diran ran forward to examine the people remaining in the cart.

  “It worked,” he said with obvious relief. “Now for Makala!” The priest took off running in the direction Onkar had taken, Yvka following. Ghaji paused only to retrieve his axe and then hurried to catch up.

  * * *

  Diran was standing at the end of the dock when the others got there. The priest was covered with sweat and breathing hard as he stared out to sea, shoulders slumped in defeat. The Black Fleet had set sail, the ships visible only as a trio of shadowy shapes melding with the darkness as they drew away from Port Verge.

  They were too late.

  Of the Diresharks there was no sign. If the Sharks didn’t get on the water soon, they’d never be able to track the raiders. Makala, and everyone else who had been taken, would be lost forever.

  “The question before us now is how best to give chase,” Diran said. “Do we charter a ship, and if so, with what funds?”

  “Maybe we could wrangle a berth aboard one of the Dire-sharks’ vessels,” Ghaji said. “They’re bound to set sail in pursuit of the Black Fleet, and they might want to have a priest of the Silver Flame along with them when they finally catch up to the raiders, especially once they learn that a vampire commands the raiders.”

  “Perhaps,” Diran said, “but there’s a good chance Kolberkon will prefer to send a priest of his acquaintance along. He’s bound to be distrustful of strangers after tonight’s raid, so it would take some effort to convince him.”

  “I have a ship,” Yvka interrupted.

  Both Diran and Ghaji turned to look at her.

  “She’s not that large,” the elf-woman said, “but she’s fast.”

  “Fast is good,” Ghaji said.

  * * *

  Waves crashed against the rocks, sending sprays of seawater into the air. The footing was treacherous, and it didn’t help that they were laden down with full traveler’s packs. Ghaji had already fallen a couple of times, once cutting his forearm on a sharp outcropping so badly they’d been forced to pause for Diran to heal the wound. The half-orc was soaked from head to toe, and the wind coming off the Lhazaar Sea made him shiver. Both Diran and Yvka were equally as wet, and presumably equally as miserable, but neither of them showed it. The elf-woman picked her way carefully over the slippery rocks, moving with a steady confidence as if she wasn’t concerned about the possibility of falling. Diran followed right behind her, and though as a human he couldn’t match the elven grace with which Yvka moved, he too seemed confident, as if he scampered over wet jagged rocks every day.

  Diran carried his blow slung over his shoulder, and his quiver of arrows nestled next to his traveler’s pack. Given Diran’s almost complete lack of proficiency with the weapon, Ghaji wouldn’t have been concerned if Diran had chosen to leave the bow behind. He’d almost suggested as much to Diran before they left town, but the priest was determined to master the weapon favored by his order, and Ghaji knew he wouldn’t listen.

  Before long, Ghaji was breathing hard, and he wanted to ask Diran and Yvka to slow down a bit. After all, he’d been born and raised in the Shadow Marches, not the Lhazaar Principalities, and he couldn’t scuttle over wet shoreline like some sort of giant crab. He was too proud to say anything, so he continued struggling along behind Diran, trying his best not to fall and hurt himself again, inwardly cursing the day he’d decided to give up his job as guard for a house of pleasure and accompany Diran on his journeys.

  They traveled along a portion of the shore to the east of Port Verge. Here the ground was rocky and uneven, as the smooth sandy beaches of the town gradually gave way to the stony cliffs that dominated the far eastern side of the island. Ghaji had no idea how long they’d been negotiating the irritating terrain, but it was still night, though much closer to sunrise than it had been when they’d stood on the docks watching the Black Fleet disappear into the distance.

  In between puffs of breath, Ghaji said, “Tell me again why… you keep your boat… hidden in a cave instead… of tied to the dock like any… sane and rational being would?”

  Yvka called back over her shoulder. “My vessel is valuable, and I have no wish to tempt thieves by leaving her at the town docks.”

  “Nothing personal, but how… valuable can she be?” Ghaji’s right foot slipped and plunged into a small tidal pool. Cursing, he extracted his foot and kept going. “From what I understand, juggling, while amusing enough, isn’t exactly a profession that makes one rich.”

  “The craft is a gift,” Yvka replied. “More of a loan, actually, which is an additional reason I’m so concerned about protecting her.”

  Ghaji ground his teeth in frustration. Diran had an exasperating tendency to, as the Lhazaarites put it, dive in head-first without bothering to check how deep the water was. Ghaji usually followed, despite his better judgment. He wasn’t at all certain that they sho
uld trust Yvka. She was obviously hiding something. It was clear enough to Ghaji that the elf-woman wasn’t a simple traveling entertainer, but what exactly she was he didn’t know. Ghaji hated not knowing. It was more difficult to fight something—or someone—if you didn’t understand your foe. Lack of knowledge had probably killed more men and women in the history of Eberron than all the swords that had ever been forged. Ghaji decided he’d simply have to keep a sharp eye on Yvka and watch for any hint of betrayal.

  “Not much farther now,” Yvka said.

  Yvka continued to lead them along the shore until they reached a small cove. It was so small, in fact, that Ghaji didn’t see how the elf-woman had managed to steer a ship between the outcroppings of rock without running aground. Yvka’d said her craft was small, but Ghaji figured she couldn’t be any larger a common lifeboat. While she might be large enough to carry the three of them, Ghaji couldn’t see how she could possibly be swift enough to catch up to the elemental galleons of the Black Fleet.

  Yvka led them to the mouth of a cave that opened onto the sea. The elf-woman paused at the entrance to reach down and pick up a metal lantern lying just inside the cave. Yvka lifted the lantern’s hood then and a warm yellow glow shone forth. Since she hadn’t lit it by hand or uttered a spell, Ghaji assumed it was an everbright lantern.

  Yvka turned to them and said, “She’s here.”

  Ghaji peered into the cave. The light from Yvka’s lantern did little to dispel the darkness within. If the elf-woman intended to spring some sort of trap on them, this would be the perfect place to do so.

  “You hesitate,” Yvka said. “What’s wrong, don’t you trust me?”

  Ghaji was about to answer when Diran responded.

  “Trust must be earned, and we haven’t known you long enough to trust you. Besides, the only person I trust completely in this world is the man standing beside me.”

  Ghaji nodded his thanks to Diran without taking his eyes off Yvka.

  The elf-woman didn’t seem put out in the slightest by Diran’s comment. “Very well. I’ll go first.” She turned and walked into the cave.

  Diran and Ghaji exchanged looks, then the half-orc stepped forward, the priest following close behind.

  The cave was larger inside than Ghaji expected. The walls and ceiling were rough and uneven, but they displayed unmistakable signs of having been carved by hand. This was no natural cave. A narrow walkway ran around the walls, providing just enough room for two people, and thin ones, at that, to walk shoulder to shoulder. In the middle of the cave was a pool of water and there, tethered by a rope tied to an iron ring set into the walkway, was Yvka’s vessel.

  Ghaji hadn’t known what to expect, but this certainly wasn’t it. The craft was larger than he’d anticipated, about the size of a sailboat, though narrower and sleeker, her bow tapering to a point almost like the tip of an arrow. A slim mast rose from the center of the sloop, the sail furled and tied down. Behind the mast was a small cabin barely large enough to accommodate a single crewperson, let alone three, especially if one of those three was a tall, broad, and slightly thick about the middle half-orc. The sloop rode several feet above water, resting atop a pair of runners that protruded from the bottom of her hull. A wooden column rose from the stern of the vessel, a thin metal ring bolted to its top.

  “She’s an elemental sloop,” Diran said in wonder.

  Yvka shone the lantern’s light on the craft so they could get a better look at her.

  “Zephyr’s something, isn’t she?” the elf-woman said. “She was built by an artificer to carry supplies during the Last War. She was designed for speed in order to outrun and out-maneuver other ships, and her size allowed her to navigate past naval blockades.”

  “She’s built from soarwood, isn’t she?” Diran asked.

  Yvka nodded. “It possesses magical buoyancy.”

  “Soarwood is quite rare indeed,” Diran said. “Do you mind my asking how you came by such a singular craft?”

  “I don’t mind you asking at all,” Yvka said with a smile, “provided you don’t mind my not answering.”

  Ghaji frowned. “What sort of supplies could you transport with so small a vessel?”

  “Dragonshards, of course,” Diran said.

  Yvka nodded. “Though since the war ended, she’s served a different purpose.”

  “Which is?” Ghaji asked.

  Yvka smiled again, and this time her eyes held a mischievous twinkle. “To take me wherever I wish to go.”

  Ghaji hated Yvka’s evasiveness, but as maddening as the twinkle in her eyes was, it only served to accentuate her elven beauty. At least now he understood how she’d managed to navigate the treacherous waters of the cove. Her elemental sloop was doubtless far more maneuverable than any ordinary craft.

  “Climb aboard,” Yvka said.

  Diran started toward the craft, but Ghaji took hold of the priest’s arm and stopped him.

  “A moment, Diran. I know you’re eager to rescue Makala,” when Diran frowned, Ghaji hastily added, “along with the other prisoners, of course, but this boat gives us all the more reason for suspicion. There’s no way that a traveling player would be in possession of such a vessel.” He glanced at Yvka.

  “Undoubtedly,” Diran concurred.

  Ghaji regretted having to speak his next words, but he had no choice. “Yvka’s not a simple juggler, and since she won’t tell us what she is, we have no choice but to assume she’s a criminal of some sort, a smuggler or perhaps even a spy for one of the other Lhazaar Princes.”

  “I am offering to help you,” Yvka said with more than a hint of exasperation. “What more do you need to know?”

  “At the moment, nothing,” Diran said. He turned to Ghaji. “You’re wrong, my friend, but not about being suspicious, though, for our elven friend is quite a mystery. You were wrong when you said we have no choice but to think her a criminal. There is another choice.”

  “And what’s that?” Ghaji said, unable to keep the words from coming out in a growl.

  Diran smiled gently. “To have faith.”

  Ghaji scowled.

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  They had spent the hour picking their way through the night forest, slowly and deliberately, making no sound and disturbing none of the animals busy with their nocturnal foraging. They were shadows, creatures formed of air and darkness, phantoms flitting from tree to tree, silent and unseen.

  Makala was impressed. She and Diran had been friends since childhood, and she’d known he was one of Emon Gorsedd’s most talented charges. After all, hadn’t it been she who’d told the warlord that Diran was ready for his final test? She’d never realized the profound depths of patience and concentration that her childhood friend was capable of summoning. Emon had chosen her to accompany Diran during his test and evaluate his performance, but though she was fifteen, two years older than Diran, and had passed her own final test three years ago, she found herself hard-pressed to match his stealth. Diran was going to make a great assassin one day, perhaps even greater than Emon himself. If he passed his final test, that is.

  The woods were thick here, and the canopy of leaves above them blocked out all light from the moons and stars. The forest was so dark it was as if the air was filled with solid shadow, but after a time a glint of orange light became visible off in the distance. They headed toward the illumination, Diran leading, Makala following. The glint grew larger, the trees sparser, until they at last found themselves at the edge of a small clearing. Diran and Makala crouched behind a thick hawthorn bush and peered into the clearing. Actually, only Diran looked into the clearing; Makala was watching his face, waiting for him to react to what she knew waited for them here.

  In the clearing, a man sat before a campfire, bedroll spread out beside him, an open traveler’s pack on the ground nearby. He had no steed, which wasn’t surprising given how dense these woods were, but what was surprising was the man’s identity.

  Diran’s eyes widened and his lips
parted as if he were about to say something, utter a whispered exclamation, perhaps, or turn to her and ask how such a thing could be possible. Sitting before the fire was their lord and master, Emon Gorsedd. To Diran’s credit, he said nothing. He closed his mouth, and his eyes narrowed as he assimilated and assessed this unexpected turn of events.

  As Diran’s observer for the test, Makala had been the one to relay Emon’s instructions, and they’d been clear enough. Enter the Wood of Erlaigne at midnight, make your way to the center as swiftly as possible without making any noise, and slay the person you find sitting before a campfire. Makala had given Diran no other information about his target, and he understood enough about the rules of the final test to know that she’d given him all the details he could and that any requests for further detail would go unanswered. Diran hadn’t even known whether his target would be young or old, male or female, but now he knew. The target was male, middle-aged, medium height and somewhat stout, bald, with a thick black mustache and beard. He wore a dark crimson tunic with gold trim at the neck, sleeves, and hem, and black pants and boots made of the finest leather. Emon’s weapon belt had been removed but lay on the ground within close reach.

  It wasn’t difficult for Makala to guess what Diran was thinking. She’d been his only contact for this “job.” Perhaps for some reason known only to her, Makala was using him to assassinate Emon and this wasn’t his final test at all. Maybe the test wasn’t to see if he would kill Emon but rather spare him, to show that Diran didn’t blindly follow orders and could think for himself. Perhaps it was simply a test of his ultimate loyalty. In the end, was his loyalty to the job or to Emon Gorsedd?

  Bird and insect song drifted on the cool night air, occasionally punctuated by the pop and crackle of the campfire. Diran had paused for several seconds so far, and Makala expected him to hesitate further. She herself had paused nearly an entire minute before finally acting during her test, but Diran waited no longer. He drew a dagger from his belt, gripped it in a throwing position, then stood. His hand blurred as he hurled the blade toward Emon Gorsedd’s unprotected back. The knife hissed through the air, but before it could bury itself between Emon’s shoulder blades, another dagger flashed out of the darkness and knocked Diran’s off course with a loud clang of clashing metal. Both knives tumbled to the ground without doing any damage, and Emon turned and glowered in Diran’s direction.