by Tim Waggoner
The kalashtar's eyes narrowed, as if he were gauging the seriousness of Chagai's intent. He must've been convinced, because Galharath held his tongue-for a change.
If Cathmore noticed the exchange between his two associates, he didn't acknowledge it. "Good, good." He gazed once more upon Solus and placed one of his vulture-claw hands upon the creature's chest. "I think it would be prudent of us to put our new friend's abilities to the test. Galharath, can you manipulate Solus's mind so that he will do my bidding?"
The kalashtar thought for a moment. "Constructs don't have minds in the way you're thinking of. In some ways this makes them simpler to manipulate, but in other ways it's more difficult. As strong as he is, I won't be able to place him permanently under your control-at least not until I've had a chance to study him further-but I might be able to implant a suggestion within his mind that will allow you to command him for a short while. It will take some time for me to do, however."
Chagai's upper lip curled in disgust. He hated it when Galharath went on like that, mostly because he never had any idea what the kalashtar was talking about.
Cathmore seemed to understand, for he smiled. "That should do nicely, Galharath, thank you." The elderly assassin leaned down until his mouth was closed to the tiny opening in the side of Solus's head that served as one of the psi-forged's ears. "I'd like to introduce you to a former student of mine, Solus, and to an old friend of Chagai's as well."
Chagai saw what Cathmore had in mind, and he bared his sharp teeth in a mirthless smile.
Haaken stood at the bow of the Maelstrom, hands gripping the railing. The ship's prow cut through the water, sending up showers of sea spray that quickly froze into a thin coating of ice that clung to Haaken's cloak and beard, but the commander of the Coldhearts didn't feel the cold. Instead he felt a mixture of elation and trepidation as the black shape of Demothi Island hove into view.
"Captain?"
Despite himself, Haaken jumped, and inwardly cursed himself for it.
"What is it, Barah?" Haaken barked.
The woman who served as Haaken's second in command took a half-step back, nearly slipping on the ice coating the deck, as Haaken turned to face her.
"The crew is starting to become… concerned, Commander. They're curious to know just how close we're going to come to the island."
Haaken understood his people's fear, for he shared it, but as their commander, he couldn't tolerate weakness-not even in himself. "As close as necessary to put our two prisoners ashore, Barah." He hoped that would settle the matter, and ordinarily it might have, but this wasn't some raid on a Perhatan merchant vessel. They were approaching the dreaded isle of the undead.
"And, uh, just precisely how close is that, Captain?"
Haaken should've backhanded Barah for questioning him, but considering the situation, he decided to allow her insolence to slide this time. "There's no need for us to make landfall. We can lash together some wooden planks to make a crude raft. We can then put the priest and the half-orc on it and give them a shove toward the shore. The tide should do the rest. Start some of the crew working on the raft."
Barah looked relieved that they wouldn't be going ashore. "Yes, Captain. Thank you, Captain." Holding fast to the railing, Barah headed off to get work started on the raft.
After staring at the dark mass of Demothi Island for a few more moments, Haaken could no longer bear the sight of the cursed place. When he'd first conceived of his plan to maroon the priest and the half-orc there, it had seemed wickedly appropriate. An entire island of undead creatures would be more than any priest could handle, but now that the Maelstrom approached the island, Haaken was having second thoughts. He'd never been this close to Demothi before, and while it might be his imagination, the closer the ship drew to the island, the more he thought he could sense an atmosphere of almost tangible evil emanating from it.
Haaken decided to go check on his prisoners and see if the amber sleep had worn off yet. He hoped so. He wanted both of them awake and fully aware when the raft carried them to Demothi's shore.
"Ho, there! You two bilge worms awake? We've almost reached Demothi Island!"
Haaken was halfway down the ladder that led to the hold when he heard something whsssk toward him. Fiery pain erupted in his left earlobe, and he reached up instinctively to touch his wound. His fingers felt sticky blood, and that's when Haaken realized he no longer had a left earlobe.
"Nice shot," Ghaji said.
"Hardly," Diran replied. "I was aiming for his carotid. These glass fragments don't make for the most aerodynamic weapons."
Haaken hadn't brought a lantern with him, and he couldn't see anything in the hold, but framed as he was by the open hatch above him, not to mention the stars and moons beyond, he was a perfect target. He scrambled back up the ladder just as another glass fragment hit his shoulder. He felt the impact but no cutting pain, and he guessed his heavy cloak had turned away the glass shard. If that had been one of the priest's daggers, he'd be in serious trouble right now.
Haaken wasn't certain how his two prisoners had gotten free of the bonds nor where they'd come by the glass fragments the priest was hurling in lieu of knives. He intended to reach the deck and slam the hatch door shut and lock it before the priest and the half-orc could escape, but as he neared the top, he felt the ladder jerk, and he knew that someone, probably the half-orc, was coming up after him. Haaken tried to move faster, but his body was numb from the cold, and his limbs were sluggish. He was only partway out of the hatch when a strong hand gripped his boot and pulled.
Haaken nearly fell back into the hold, but he grabbed hold of the deck, raised his other foot and stomped down hard on the half-orc's hand. He heard Ghaji bellow more in frustration than pain, and then the half-orc released his grip on Haaken's boot, and the Coldheart commander was able to pull himself the rest of the way onto the deck.
Haaken spun, intending to slam the hatch, but as he reached for it, Ghaji's hand lunged out of the open hatchway, holding a broken wine bottle by the neck. Upon seeing the broken bottle, Haaken felt a surge of anger. That bottle had come from his personal stock, a rare vintage from Sarlona. The Coldhearts had slaughtered an entire shipload of Sarlonan merchants to get it! His rage was soon replaced by pain as Ghaji rammed the jagged edge into Haaken's sword hand. Haaken howled as broken glass sliced through his flesh and bit into the bone beneath. He yanked his hand away from the hatch and shoved it inside his cloak to staunch the blood.
"Coldhearts!" he shouted as he shoved himself backward, away from the hatch. "To me!"
The wind was blowing strong, and Haaken wasn't sure that his people had heard him. He was about to yell again when Ghaji leaped onto the deck and came at him, wielding the broken wine bottle like a knife.
"You have good taste in wine, Haaken. It nearly broke my heart to pour it out so we could use the bottles, though I admit we saved a few swallows for ourselves."
Ghaji leaned down and swung the broken bottle at Haaken's throat, but the Coldheart commander managed to deflect the blow with his forearm. Haaken followed by bringing a knee up and ramming it into the half-orc's gut. Breath whooshed out of Ghaji, and Haaken shoved him back.
Haaken knew Ghaji wouldn't be off-balance for long, and he shoved himself to his feet and started to run. Unfortunately, the deck remained coated with ice and his boots slid out from under him. He landed back-first onto the deck, and now it was his turn to have the wind knocked out of him. As he struggled to draw in air, he looked back toward the hatch and saw that Diran had emerged from the hold and was helping Ghaji to his feet.
Haaken felt a wave of frustration. He couldn't pull in enough air to shout for his people again, and he wouldn't be able to get up in time to defend himself against Diran and Ghaji. A few more seconds, and it would all be over…
"Don't move!"
Haaken looked up and saw Barah coming toward the hatch, three other Coldhearts in tow. They held their swords in one hand while holding onto the starboard railin
g with the other to keep from sliding on the ice-coated deck. Haaken had to admit they didn't make the most intimidating attack force approaching like that, but he was glad to see them just the same. The deck would prove just as slippery for the priest and half-orc, and they didn't have real weapons. They couldn't hope to stand against his people!
He turned to watch Diran and Ghaji's reaction and saw the priest reach into his sleeve and withdraw several shards of glass. His hands blurred as he hurled the makeshift weapons, and Barah's mouth opened wide to scream, but all that emerged was a wet gurgle followed by a spray of blood. A shard was embedded in her throat. Diran managed to strike the other two as well: one in the throat and the second in the eye. Barah fell to the deck, as did the two Coldhearts who'd had the misfortune to join her.
For the first time since meeting Diran Bastiaan that afternoon at the King Prawn, Haaken wondered if it wouldn't have been better if he'd swallowed his pride and just walked away.
Haaken was finally able to fill his lungs, and he put every ounce of air into shouting. "Coldhearts! To arms!"
He didn't wait to see if his cry for help had been heard. He slid himself starboard across the deck toward Barah. Her eyes were wide and staring, and though her body still twitched, Haaken knew she was dead, or close enough to it to make no difference, but right now he wasn't interested in mourning her loss. He was more interested in using her body as a shield against Diran's glass shards. He slid around behind her and propped her up using his wounded hand. It hurt likes blazes, but he needed his free hand to defend himself against Ghaji. He drew a dagger from his sheath, hunkered down behind the still-twitching form of his second in command, and waited for whatever would happen next.
Diran had been aiming for the throats of the three Coldhearts, and he would've considered himself lucky if he'd managed to take out even one of them, given how difficult the glass shards were to throw. He knew he had the Silver Flame to thank for all three of the Coldhearts going down-that or sheer dumb luck.
"Do you think the others heard him?" Ghaji asked.
Diran didn't have to answer, for more Coldhearts came at them from both directions, weapons in hand, gripping the rail to keep their footing.
"The cold works to our advantage," Diran said. "They can only come at us single file."
"What direction do you want? Fore or aft?"
Diran didn't have to think about it. "Fore. The wind's blowing in that direction."
"Then I'll take aft."
The two companions linked arms to steady themselves as they shuffled across the icy deck away from the open hatch and toward the starboard railing. They took up positions back to back-Diran facing fore, Ghaji aft-gripped the railing, and prepared to meet the oncoming Coldhearts.
It was an awkward, slippery battle, though it was made somewhat less so when Ghaji managed to liberate a sword from one of the attacking Coldhearts. When it was over, Ghaji had a shoulder wound from a sword thrust, and Diran's left hand was broken from when a Coldheart had gotten close enough to slam the pommel of his sword against it, but that Coldheart, like the others, was dead now. The only one who remained alive was Haaken. The Coldheart commander-or former commander, since all his people had been slain-still huddled behind the body of the woman Diran had killed with a glass shard to the throat.
"Is that all?" Ghaji asked, sounding disappointed. Blood flowed freely from his shoulder wound, but the half-orc warrior paid no attention to the injury.
"I believe so." Diran turned and placed his good hand on Ghaji's shoulder. He concentrated and felt warmth spreading outward from his palm to radiate through his friend's shoulder. Diran could sense the healing power of the Silver Flame reparing Ghaji's wound. When the task was complete, Diran concentrated on turning that power inward and healing his broken hand. Within a few moments, it was done. He flexed his fingers and found them nimble as ever.
"Thanks," Ghaji said. "What now?"
Diran noticed that his friend didn't take his gaze from Haaken. The Coldheart might not appear to be much of a threat at the moment, but after what the man had done to them this day, neither Ghaji nor Diran would underestimate him again.
"If Haaken truly is the last remaining Coldheart aboard, then there's no one sailing this vessel. One of us had better take the tiller."
"After we take care of Haaken."
Diran knew exactly what his companion meant by take care. "There's no need to kill him. We can tie him up and put him in the hold."
"We got out," Ghaji said. "He could too."
Before becoming one of the Purified, Diran would've slit Haaken's throat without thought or remorse, but he'd forsaken the shadowy path of the assassin when he'd taken his vows, and he no longer shared his body with the dark spirit that Emon Gorsedd had implanted in all the recruits of the Brotherhood of the Blade. The dark spirit muted its host's positive emotions while heightening the negative ones, making it easier for Emon's assassins to kill without conscience. Diran had broken free of the Brotherhood years ago and dedicated his life to the service of the Silver Flame. Diran thus avoided killing unless it was absolutely necessary. Haaken was no longer a threat so there was no need to slay him, but he knew Ghaji didn't see it that way.
"Perhaps we can locate his supply of amber sleep and use it to-"
The Maelstrom gave a sudden violent lurch and the sound of splintering wood filled the air. The impact knocked Diran and Ghaji off their feet and sent the two companions sliding across the icy deck. The vessel listed to port, and they continued sliding until they hit the railing on that side of the ship. They lay there for a moment, gripping the railing tight and waiting to see if the Maelstom was going to move any more. When it became clear that the vessel wasn't going anywhere, Diran and Ghaji stood as best they could on the tilted deck.
Diran looked in the direction of the bow and saw that the ship had run aground on a dark, forbidding, rocky shore.
"I believe we've arrived at Demothi Island," Diran said.
"Land ho," Ghaji muttered.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
They searched the Coldhearts' ship and found Ghaji's axe and Diran's cloak and daggers in one of the cabins-the one belonging to Haaken, Ghaji guessed, or perhaps that should be belonged, for since the Maelstrom had run aground, they'd seen no sign of the wounded man. If Haaken had been tossed overboard by the impact, he wouldn't have lasted long in these frigid waters, and even if he'd made it to shore, without a fire to dry and warm him, he'd succumb to the cold soon enough. Still, Ghaji would've preferred seeing Haaken's dead body for himself. He'd been a warrior too long to take anything for granted-especially the death of a foe.
Diran slipped his daggers into the various sheaths sewn into the inner lining of his cloak. The priest carried blades fashioned from all manner of materials: finely honed steel, polished silver, sturdy iron, carved wood, smooth-hewn rock, delicate crystal… each useful for battling creatures with varying weaknesses. Many of the blades had been purchased-though as a wandering priest Diran was hardly rich-while some had been gifts and a select few had been crafted by Diran himself. The priest had a specific place for each dagger, though how he kept their locations straight, Ghaji didn't know. Give him a single weapon to keep track of, and maybe a second for back-up, and that was all he needed.
Ghaji also wore a pack containing supplies they'd scavenged from the Maelstom: rope, some rations, a few light-stones that while not as reliable as everbright lanterns, would serve well enough in a pinch. Diran didn't carry a pack, for it would interfere with drawing daggers from inside his cloak, but he did carry a waterskin looped to his belt, as did Ghaji. The half-orc had scouted their landing place from the ship's railing earlier, and from the look of the barren island, he doubted they'd find any fresh water there.
"Ready?" Diran asked when he was finished replacing his daggers.
"All ashore that's going ashore," Ghaji said.
They left the cabin and made their way back out onto the uneven deck. Dark clouds filled the night sky, bloc
king out the moons and stars. Waves crashed against the ship's hull, causing the slanted deck beneath their feet to shudder, making walking even more treacherous as they moved toward the ship's stern. Once there, Ghaji removed the rope from his pack and tied one end to the railing.
"You go first," he said to Diran. "I'll lower you down."
The half-orc was far stronger than Diran, who was a lean man at any rate. He knew he would have no trouble performing this maneuver.
Diran nodded, took hold of the other end of the rope, and looped it around his left hand. He then drew a steel dagger-just in case a very unwelcoming welcome committee should appear-and climbed over the railing. The priest kept watch on the shore as Ghaji lowered him, but the precaution, wise as it was, turned out to be unnecessary. Diran's feet came down in the surf at the edge of the shoreline safely. The priest let go of the rope and Ghaji hauled it in. He gauged the distance from the railing to the ground once more, then untied the rope, rolled it up, and replaced it in his pack. He then stepped up onto the railing and jumped.
The half-orc landed with a splash next to Diran. The priest gave him a look and Ghaji shrugged. "I figured we might need the rope later."
Diran nodded, Ghaji drew his axe, and together they walked onto Demothi Island.
As soon as his boot touched the shore, Diran drew in a hissing breath.
"What's wrong?" Ghaji asked, almost activating his elemental axe out of reflex.
"I sensed an aura of evil emanating from this place while we were still on the ship, but now that we're here, it's even stronger-as strong as anything we've ever encountered."
A chill shivered down Ghaji's spine. Considering some of the evil, both supernatural and mundane, they'd faced together over the years, that was saying something.
As Ghaji took in his surroundings, he could easily believe that Diran's foreboding was well founded. The island was craggy and rough, the stony ground cracked and covered with jagged rocks. The only signs of life were tufts of dry grass that had managed to shove their way through the narrow fissures in the ground, along with twisted, gnarled trees that looked as if they'd never grown leaves or borne fruit, regardless of the season. Though Ghaji had no priestly training, he was half-orc and thus strongly attuned to the natural world, and all his senses were screaming that there was nothing natural about this place-nothing at all.