In the back of Makala’s mind, she knew that the archers could pick her off anytime, for skilled as she was, she hadn’t a shifter’s reflexes to help her dodge arrows. She also knew that if Erdis Cai chose to, he could intercept her whenever he wished and toss her about like a rag doll, just as he’d done with poor Zabeth, but she had no control over either of those things. Emon Gorsedd had taught her to ignore what she couldn’t control, so she kept on running. Either she’d reach Zabeth or she wouldn’t. At least she wouldn’t simply have sat still and watched her friend be torn to pieces.
Up to this point, Makala had avoided looking through the grating, but as she approached Zabeth, she glanced downward. She saw dozens of hairless shapes moving like pale shadows beneath her, and she knew the ghouls were converging on Zabeth. Makala began swinging the manacles over her head as she closed in on her friend, just as the first mottled-fleshed hand came up between the bars and reached for Zabeth’s left arm. Makala let out a battle cry as she swung the manacles with all her strength at the ghoul’s grasping hand. The shackle smashed into the pale fingers, breaking the creature’s claw-like fingernails. The ghoul screeched in pain and withdrew its hand, but more came to take its place—many more. Makala swung her improvised weapon with desperate, almost maniacal fury as she struggled to drive off the savage ghouls and save Zabeth, but there were too many of them and only one of her. Her arm and shoulder started to go numb, and despite her efforts, some of the ghouls had managed to wound Zabeth, and the shifter sobbed as her blood ran down into the pit below them, further exciting the ghouls. Makala refused to give in. She would fight to her dying breath and if possible beyond.
“Hold!”
The word echoed through the amphitheater like thunder, and the ghouls broke off their attack. They crouched below Zabeth, hissing softly as they cast covetous glances at the blood dripping from the shifter’s wounds, but as much as they might long to, they made no move to feed. Makala stood panting for breath, the manacles dangling at her side. She turned to see Erdis Cai striding toward her. It might have been due to fatigue, but it looked as if the vampire lord walked several inches above the grating instead of on it.
“Congratulations, Makala.” Erdis Cai stopped a few feet away from her, and if he’d been walking above the bars before, he stood upon them now.
“For… what?” she gasped.
“For proving yourself worthy.”
Makala scowled. “You mean this was… a test?”
Erdis Cai smiled, and this time he seemed to have no qualms about displaying his sharp incisors. “Indeed, and you cannot possibly know how happy you’ve made me.”
“You bastard!” Makala swung the shackle at Erdis Cai’s face, intending to knock those damn teeth of his out of their sockets, but the vampire reached up and caught the chain with unnatural ease.
“The test is finished. There’s no further need to prove yourself.” Cai looked down at the ghouls crouching below.
“Finish the bitch,” he ordered.
The ghouls shrieked with delighted lust, Makala shouted “No!” and poor Zabeth screamed. But not for long.
* * *
Now that the Mire was several hours behind them and the sun had set, Hinto seemed to finally be relaxing a bit, which was a relief to Ghaji. The halfling had held his own during the escape from the Mire, and Ghaji respected that, but he found Hinto’s “emotional instability,” as Diran put it, hard to stomach. During one of the halfling’s low periods, he’d been standing at the port rail, weeping softly. Diran had taken Ghaji aside and explained that the trauma of losing his crewmates and surviving on his own in the Mire had taken a heavy toll on Hinto’s mind. They needed to be understanding and patient with the halfling while he came to terms with what had happened. Ghaji was all for being understanding and patient as Hinto’s wounded spirit healed, but did the halfling have to be so damn annoying in the process?
Hinto once more stood at the Zephyr’s port side, running his hands appreciatively over the surface of the railing.
“I never thought I’d ever get to see soarwood, let alone sail on a vessel made from it,” he said. “It’s so smooth that the hand slides over it as if it were ice. No wonder this craft can sail so swiftly.”
Ghaji sat not far away, honing his axe blade with a sharpening stone. He didn’t know if the halfling was talking to him or merely thinking aloud. Either way, Ghaji saw no need to reply. Tthen Diran, who sat next to him, restocking his cloak pockets with daggers he’d taken from the pack between his feet, gave Ghaji a look, and the half-orc sighed.
“She’s a fine vessel,” Ghaji said, then he shot Diran a glance that said, There, are you satisfied?
Hinto turned away from the railing and came over to join them, though the halfling didn’t sit and Ghaji didn’t ask him to.
“She’d certainly make an excellent pirate ship,” Hinto said. “She’s small enough that you could get close to other vessels before they had the chance to try and evade you, and she’s fast enough that you’d be able to outrun any pursuit. She’s too small to carry a large crew, though, so you’d have to choose your targets carefully so as not to find yourselves outnumbered, but—”
“We’re not pirates,” Ghaji said. “We’re…” He trailed off, unsure precisely how to describe what he and Diran did.
“Pilgrims,” Diran said.
A bit grand, Ghaji thought, but accurate enough, he supposed.
“Why are you trying to rescue that woman? Makala, right?”
Diran expression turned grim. He returned his attention to resupplying his cloak pockets from among his collection of daggers.
Hinto leaned forward and peered into Diran’s pack. “You’ve got a lot of knives in there. Steel, iron, silver…” Hinto pointed. “Are those wood?”
“They are,” Diran confirmed without taking his attention from his work. “The foul creatures that Ghaji and I battle have varying strengths and weaknesses. Some are affected by all metals, some only by certain kinds, while others aren’t affected by metals at all. I must be prepared.”
Ghaji knew that Diran had many more types of daggers beside those he’d already named. He carried blades fashioned from stone, ivory, jade, and crystal, most of which he’d fashioned himself. He also owned several daggers that possessed magical properties: a couple that had been given to him by Tusya, his mentor in the church, while the others had been acquired during various missions over the years.
“Must make for a heavy burden,” Hinto said, eyeing the pack.
“In more ways than one,” Diran said softly.
The halfling frowned. “I just thought of something. If your pack’s full of knives, where do you carry your other supplies, such as a bedroll and the like?”
“He doesn’t,” Ghaji said. “I carry supplies for both of us in my pack. One of my primary duties is to serve as Diran’s mule.”
The priest looked up at him and smiled. “You’re stubborn as a mule, I’ll give you that.”
Ghaji grinned. “And proud of it.”
Hinto’s eyes widened and he took two steps backward. At first Ghaji didn’t understand why, then he realized he’d bared his teeth when he’d smiled. An orcish smile, even one half-orcish, was enough to give even the strongest warrior pause, let alone an emotionally disturbed halfling. Ghaji felt a sudden wave of shame. How many times in his life had he accidentally frightened people because of the way he looked? He wasn’t above taking advantage of his appearance in battle—he’d done so many times during the Last War. Sometimes he forgot the effect his appearance had on others, forgot that too often it was a mistake to relax his guard and act like he was just another person talking, laughing, and smiling with friends. He wasn’t “another person.” He was a half-orc and always would be.
“Mind if I join you?”
Hinto started at the sound of Yvka’s voice, and he stared at the elf-woman with a wide-eyed, terrified gaze.
Ghaji reached out and put his hand on the halfling’s shoulder. “Calm yours
elf.”
Though Ghaji’s rumbling voice could hardly be described as soothing, Hinto nevertheless took a deep breath then let it out slowly. He then looked at Ghaji and smiled.
“Thanks, Greenie.”
It took a monumental effort, but Ghaji managed not to tighten his grip and break Hinto’s shoulder.
Diran looked up at Yvka. “Please, sit down.”
“No thanks. I’ve been sitting in the pilot’s chair for hours. I’d rather stand.”
She put two hands on her lower back and arched her spine in a stretch. The motion caused her chest to bow outward and her head to lean back, her lips parting slightly.
Now it was Ghaji’s turn to stare wide-eyed.
When she was finished with her display, which Ghaji thought went on a little longer than strictly necessary—not that he was complaining—she said, “The wind’s blowing strong enough that we can do without the elemental for a short while without losing too much time.”
“It’s just as well,” Diran said. “We need to make plans before we reach Dreadhold. How long do you think it will be before we’re there?”
Yvka looked up at the stars glittering in the night sky. “Dreadhold is located off the northern reaches of Cape Far. We should arrive by midmorning tomorrow. Noon at the latest.”
Diran nodded. “Do you have any friends on the island who can get us in to speak with Tresslar?”
“The Shadow Network is not without connections in Dreadhold,” she said, “but I personally have no relationship with anyone there. I’m afraid I’ll be of little help this time.”
“Don’t worry,” Diran said. “Ghaji and I are used to providing people with reasons to let us enter where we’re not always permitted.”
“Or wanted,” Ghaji added.
Diran grinned. “Indeed. I’m sure we’ll be able to get inside, one way or another.”
“Will we have trouble docking?” Ghaji asked. “The Zephyr isn’t exactly an inconspicuous ship, and our arrival will be unscheduled.”
“The dock is rarely used,” Yvka said, “as there’s little traffic coming and going from Dreadhold. Also, guards watch the sea carefully, ever alert for the approach of raiders who may be coming to help a comrade escape. We’ll just have to make berth and hope we can talk our way past the dockmaster.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to bribe him?” Ghaji asked.
“If it were anywhere else but Dreadhold, I’d say yes,” Yvka said, “but the members of House Kundarak run the prison with rigid efficiency and unwavering adherence to the rules. They cannot be bribed.”
Hinto sniffed. “I don’t trust anyone who refuses to take an honest bribe.”
“You could stay at Dreadhold,” Diran said to the halfling. “The warders would surely help you return to the mainland if you wish, and if nothing else, you’d be out of danger.”
“I thank you for your consideration,” Hinto said, “but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stay aboard the Zephyr.”
Ghaji frowned. “Didn’t you hear what Diran said? You’d be safe in Dreadhold.”
“I’m safe right here. You three found me in the Mire, and you three got me out. The way I see it, you’re all good luck charms, and I’ll be safe as long as I stick close to you.”
Ghaji nearly groaned. It seemed Hinto had attached to the three of them like a stray puppy that had received a bit of food and a few kind words from a stranger. Wonderful.
“Since Tresslar works in the prison, I think we’ll have an easier time getting in to speak with him than if he were an inmate,” Diran said, “but we’ll need some sort of cover story.”
“Why?” Ghaji asked. “Why not just introduce ourselves to the warden, explain what our mission is, and ask to speak with Tresslar?”
“Ordinarily, that’s just what we’d do,” Diran said, “but there’s one problem.” He looked at Yvka.
“That problem is me,” she said, “or rather, the people I work for. Officially, they don’t exist. If we tell the warden the truth, he’s bound to ask some uncomfortable questions, and though I am as committed to finding the Black Fleet as you are, I cannot reveal anything about my employers in the process, especially not to a representative of a dragonmarked house.”
“I see,” Ghaji said. “Then we go with a cover story.”
“We’ll make landfall on Dreadhold, and Ghaji and I will enter the prison while you and Hinto remain with the Zephyr” Diran said. “We’ll speak to Tresslar and hopefully learn where Erdis Cai makes port. Once that knowledge is ours, we’ll rejoin you and set sail once more. Easy as that.”
Ghaji looked at his friend. “It’s never easy.”
“Try to be optimistic. Perhaps this will be the first time.”
“Are you willing to wager on it?” Ghaji asked.
Diran thought for a moment. “No,” he said with a sigh.
“However things go for us on Dreadhold, we’ll need to be well rested,” Yvka said. “Diran, as long as the wind’s strong, would you mind taking the tiller for a couple hours?”
“Not at all.”
“Perhaps Hinto can keep you company,” the elf-woman said. “He must have some absolutely riveting stories about his time at sea.”
The halfling nodded enthusiastically. “That I do! One of my tasks aboard the Pelican was to serve as chief ratcatcher. Why, one time I caught thirty-seven rats in a single afternoon.”
“Do tell,” Diran said in a tone that indicated he’d like Hinto to do anything but continue.
“Oh, yes! It wasn’t easy, mind you. The first seventeen gave me no trouble really, but after that—”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Yvka said, “I’ll take my leave.”
She looked at Ghaji’s hands. He still held his axe and sharpening stone, though he hadn’t been doing anything with them while they’d talked.
“You’re obviously quite skilled with your hands, Ghaji,” Yvka said. “There’s something in the cabin that makes a squeaking noise and keeps me from falling asleep easily. I thought perhaps you might be able to find whatever is causing the noise and fix it for me. If you could, I’d appreciate it. Very much.”
She gave Ghaji a look full of promise, then turned and headed for the cabin.
Diran smiled. “You’d better go, my friend. It’s impolite to keep a lady waiting when she has a squeak that needs tending.”
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
The amphitheater was empty now. The stone floor was once again in place, for the punishment was over, and Erdis Cai’s undead crew had been fed. The citizens of Grimwall had gone back to whatever duties were theirs to perform within their subterranean city. Even Onkar and Jarlain had departed, leaving only Makala and Erdis Cai. Makala sat staring at the amphitheater’s stone floor, Zabeth’s final screams replaying over and over in her mind.
The vampire lord stood looking down at her, head cocked slightly to the side in puzzlement. “Your friend fought most valiantly. You should be proud of her.”
“What difference does it make how I feel? Zabeth is dead. Nothing can change that.”
Erdis Cai continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “The shifter would’ve proven most worthy if it hadn’t been for her age. While strength of spirit is an important quality, youth and vitality are also necessary.”
“You and Jarlain keep talking about worthiness,” Makala said, unable to keep the hatred and rage she felt out of her voice, “but old or not, Zabeth was infinitely more worthy than any of you lot could ever be!”
The vampire lord’s eyes flashed blood-red for an instant before returning to their more muted crimson color. “Perhaps you’d appreciate your friend’s sacrifice if you understood what she died for.” He considered for a moment before turning and beginning to ascend the amphitheater’s steps. “Come,” he ordered without looking back at her.
Makala had no intention of doing as Erdis Cai commanded, not caring whether her defiance would lead to her own punishment on the amphitheater floor, but as if of its own ac
cord, her body rose to its feet, turned, and began following after the vampire lord. Makala struggled to stop, to make her body obey her once more, but it was no use. Whatever spell Erdis Cai had cast on her, she had neither the power nor the will to resist it.
She followed him out of the deserted amphitheater and through the city streets. At first she thought he was leading her back to the stairs they’d taken earlier, then she realized they were heading in the opposite direction. Before long they reached the far side of the underground city. The braziers were few here, the light dusk-dim. Erdis Cai continued walking until he came to a craggy section of cavern wall that hadn’t been made smooth like so much else in Grimwall had. He stopped, and though he issued no command for Makala to do the same, she did anyway. She no longer knew if her body remained under Cai’s spell or if she duplicated the action simply because she could think of nothing else to do. She watched as the vampire lord pressed his gauntlet-covered hand against the wall, and though she could see nothing to mark this section as different from the rock surrounding it, Cai pressed and was rewarded with grating sound of rock sliding against rock. He removed his hand as a door shaped in a half-circle slowly swung open in front of them.
“I can’t tell you how many years I’d been using Grimwall as a base of operations before I discovered this door. I know I was still mortal at the time, though.” He started to walk through the door, then paused and glanced back over his shoulder at Makala.
“This set of stairs spirals downward and can be somewhat tricky for mortals to negotiate. Remain in physical contact with me as we descend.” He offered his arm in a gentlemanly gesture, but when Makala made no move to take it, he said, “Suit yourself,” and passed through the opening in the wall. Makala, whether of her own desire or not, followed.
As they began going down, the door closed shut behind them, leaving Makala in total darkness. The stairs wound sharply and steeply downward, and it wasn’t long before Makala found herself becoming dizzy. Despite her earlier reluctance to take Cai’s arm, she now reached out and put a hand on his armored shoulder to steady herself, being careful to avoid touching the jutting spike there. She gasped as her flesh came in contact with the metal. It was freezing cold, so much so that it was painful to the touch. She tried to yank her hand away, but she couldn’t pull it free no matter how hard she tried. She kept on trying as they wound down ever deeper into darkness but without success. After a time, the cold hurt so much it burned like fire, and soon after that, her hand began to go numb. By the time the darkness finally gave way to a flickering greenish glow, she couldn’t feel any sensation from her fingertips to her elbow.
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