by Tim Waggoner
Galharath had to do something and do it fast. The question was what.
A smile crossed the kalashtar's face. He'd thought of a solution as simple as it was elegant. Hopefully, it would also prove deadly for the priest.
With a small portion of his consciousness that wasn't involved in monitoring Solus, Galharath formed a tendril of psionic energy and reached out to Diran Bastiaan's mind.
As Solus approached the man in black, he felt confused and uncertain. This was Diran Bastiaan, the monster who had stolen his memories, yet the human walked toward Solus with his arms held out to his sides, open palms displayed to show he carried no weapons. Solus might have little experience of the world beyond the walls of Mount Luster, but he knew enough to realize Bastiaan might be attempting to deceive him by pretending to be friendly. There was something else about the man that confused Solus. He sensed no ill intent on the man's part, felt no waves of negative emotion radiating from the man. He sensed only concern for others-the woman standing behind him, the small trembling one lying on the dock, the older human lying unconscious nearby, the half-orc that Solus had sent flying through the air, the men and women who'd been injured when Solus had caused the dock beneath their feet to explode. Bastiaan feared for their safety, all of them, without sparing a thought for himself. This was a monster? This was the villain he was supposed to destroy?
Solus halted, stopped by a new thought: Perhaps Diran Bastiaan wasn't the deceiver… perhaps Galharath was.
Before Solus went any further, he needed to speak with Galharath and clear this up, but as the psi-forged began to turn around, intending to walk back to shore and question the psionic artificer, Diran Bastiaan laughed. Surprised, Solus turned around to face the dark priest.
The laughter emerging from Bastiaan's throat was brittle and harsh, with a mocking edge to it. It was the laughter of a man who had nothing but the most profound contempt for the person he was facing… the laughter of a fiend delighted to behold the weakness of the victim standing before him.
Solus might not have his full memories to draw upon, but he recalled one thing very well: Rage.
He concentrated, reached into Bastiaan's mind, and commanded the monster's heart to stop.
Bastiaan's eyes flew wide and his laughter choked off. His features contorted into a grimace of pain, but his eyes held only surprise and disbelief. His body went limp, and he collapsed to the dock like a toy abandoned by a bored child.
The woman cried out in despair and ran to kneel at Bastiaan's side. She slapped his face lightly, and when he didn't respond, she struck him harder.
"Diran! Wake up! Damn you, wake up!" Solus was more confused then ever now, for in the instant when he'd stopped Bastiaan's heart, his mind had touched that of the priest, and he'd sensed that Diran wasn't laughing of his own volition. Something-or someone-had been forcing him, but why?
Before Solus could consider this strange development further, the small man-who a moment ago had been lying on the deck shivering as if in the grip of intense cold-stepped between the psi-forged and the priest's body.
The little man drew a long knife from the sash around his waist and brandished it at Solus, the blade quivering in his hand.
"Guh-get away from hu-hu-him!"
Solus regarded the little man curiously. "You are smaller than I, and you have no special abilities that I can detect. You are not especially skilled with weaponry, you wield no magic, nor do you possess any powers of the mind. You cannot stand against me, and you are consumed by fear, yet there you stand, guarding Diran Bastiaan though it might well mean your own death. Why?"
The small man was so terrified, he had to struggle to force out an answer to Solus's question. "Buh-because Diran's my friend."
Solus probed the small man's surface thoughts and found no deception, only fierce affection and loyalty to the priest. If Diran Bastiaan truly was the monster Galharath had made him out to be, how could the priest have inspired such deep feelings of friendship in this small man, feelings so strong that he had fought to overcome his paralyzing fear to protect Diran, even at the cost of his own life?
Solus realized that he had made a terrible mistake. He reached into Diran's mind which, while in the process of dying wasn't quite dead yet, and reactivated the priest's heart. Diran's eyes flew open and his body spasmed as he drew in a deep, gasping breath.
Satisfied that the priest would live, Solus turned to regard the trio watching him from shore. He fixed his gaze upon Galharath and sent a simple thought to the kalashtar.
You lied.
Galharath smiled. So I did.
The psionic artificer furrowed his brow, and Solus felt a wave of energy surging toward him. He attempted to erect a mental barrier to defend himself, but he was inexperienced at psionic combat, and Galharath's attack broke apart into a dozen different streams of energy that snaked around Solus's barrier with ease. The streams coalesced as the psychic energy streaked toward the small green crystal that Galharath had embedded in the psi-forged's forehead. Solus felt the crystal grow hot as energy suffused it, then the shard exploded, taking a good chunk of the psi-forged's head with it, and Solus knew no more.
Diran came to with his head in Asenka's lap. She gazed down at him, smiling with relief as a single tear slid down her cheek.
"For a moment there…" She trailed off, leaving her thought incomplete.
Diran frowned. He knew something had happened, but he wasn't quite sure what. He'd been having a dream in which a silver flame burned bright and warm in the darkness, a flame that called to him in a soundless voice to come toward it… to come home. It had been such a pleasant dream that he was almost sorry he'd awakened.
He felt weak as a kitten, and when he tried to sit up, he needed Asenka's help. He looked around, trying to remember what had happened before he'd lost consciousness. He saw Hinto grinning at him, and behind the halfling stood a warforged whose body was covered by colorful crystalline shards. For some reason, Diran thought the shards should be glowing, but no light came from them now. The warforged's back was to him, and he stood with his arms held out in front of his face, as if trying to ward off some sort of attack. The construct stood motionless, and Diran had the impression that at the moment he contained no more life than a statue. He didn't think the warforged was dead, but why he should have that impression, he wasn't sure.
He turned to look seaward and saw Tresslar rise to a sitting position farther down the dock. The artificer grimaced and rubbed his temples. Diran had a vague memory of healing Tresslar, but he couldn't recall the specific injury that the man had suffered. Whatever it had been, it appeared the artificer would be all right, and for that Diran was grateful. Another memory came back to him then, an image of three men standing on the shore, watching as… as the warforged attacked.
Diran's full memory returned to him in a sudden rush, and he looked at the shore where Aldarik Cathmore had been standing, alongside an orc and a lean man Diran took to be a kalashtar, but no one stood there now. Cathmore was gone.
A splashing sound to his right drew Diran's attention, and he turned to see Ghaji haul himself out of the water and onto the dock.
"Sorry it took me so long to get back, but I dropped my axe, and the damn thing sank to the bottom." The half-orc looked around. "So… what did I miss?"
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Thank you for allowing us to bring the warforged to the Sea Scorpions' barracks," Diran said.
"Baron Mahir ordered me to conduct a full investigation into the warforged's attack," Asenka said, then she smiled. "Besides, it's the least I can do for you after you healed my people who were harmed during the construct's rampage."
"Why are we doing anything with him?" Ghaji said. "Aside from disassembling him, that is. He nearly killed you, Diran."
"Actually, I believe he did kill me, but then he changed his mind and returned me to life."
Diran gazed down upon the warforged. The construct lay upon a table in the barracks' common room, eyes dark, b
ody frozen in the same position it had held on the dock: arms held up as if to ward off an invisible assault. Diran's companions-with the exception of Makala, who still slumbered aboard the Zephyr-stood around the table looking at the creature that had come close to slaying them all.
"Solus," Hinto said.
Everyone turned to look at the halfling.
Hinto explained without taking his eyes off the warforged. "That's his name: Solus."
"How could you possibly know that?" Tresslar asked.
Hinto shrugged. "I don't know. I just do."
Tresslar snorted. "Nonsense."
"I'm inclined to believe you, Hinto." Diran examined the warforged's injuries more closely. His right arm was singed from the fire caused by Ghaji's axe, and the weapon had cut out a small wedge of wood as well, but by far the most serious damage had occurred to Solus's head. The explosion, whatever its cause, had blasted a fist-sized hole in the warforged's forehead, but where such an injury would've revealed ravaged brain tissue in a fully organic being, only solid rock was visible within Solus's head.
Hinto looked up at Diran, a worried expression on his face, but a hopeful look in his eyes. "You're a priest. Can't you do anything for him?"
"I'm sorry, my friend, but my abilities don't extend to healing damage done to constructs. Such work is the province of artificers."
Everyone turned to Tresslar.
"Don't look at me!" the artificer said.
"You told me once that you used to help repair the warforged that served on the Seastar!" Hinto protested.
"Yes, but I merely patched over a few holes, filled in some cracks, occasionally refit an eye or finger… but this-" Tresslar gestured toward the huge divot in Solus's forehead-"is another matter entirely. Such damage would require the attention of an artificer who specializes in warforged… assuming this construct can be revived at all."
"We don't have a specialist," Diran said. "We have you. You admit that you worked on warforged during the time you sailed with Erdis Cai. You must have had the opportunity to increase your knowledge during your years at Dreadhold. Surely there were some warforged among the prison populace."
"A few," Tresslar admitted. "Though warforged tend to commit fewer crimes than others." He leaned over Solus to examine more closely the warforged's head injury. He scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Warforged's internal workings are very different from ours. Their minds aren't physical things, and their personalities don't reside in organs like our brains. Their… selves, for lack of a better term, exist as an intricate matrix of mystical energies."
"It sounds like you're speaking of souls," Yvka said.
Tresslar shrugged. "If you like. The point is that while an injury like this-" he gestured to Solus's forehead-"would kill you or me, it isn't necessarily fatal to a warforged."
"So you can fix him!" Hinto said.
"I didn't say that!" Tresslar snapped. "I've never seen a warforged like this before." The artificer paused, and when he spoke next, his tone was apologetic. "I wouldn't know where to start."
"That's not the point!" Ghaji said. His voice was tight, and his complexion a darker green than usual, the equivalent of a human's face turning red with anger. "Why would we even attempt to repair him? We slay monsters; we don't nurse them back to health!"
Hinto turned to Ghaji, "He's not a monster!" The halfing's jaw jutted out in defiance. "He's just confused and afraid, but you wouldn't know what that's like, would you?" Hinto turned to regard the entire group. "None of you know!" He paused, and then softly added, "Not like I do." The little pirate gazed down at Solus with sympathy in his eyes then reached out and patted the construct's stone hand.
Diran looked at Hinto, concerned. It appeared their halfling friend had been more affected by his encounter with Solus than they'd realized. Diran wondered what long-term effects, if any, Hinto might suffer, and he decided to keep a close eye on the halfling for the time being.
"There's another matter to discuss," Yvka said. "Diran, you saw Cathmore watching from the shore as Solus attacked you."
Diran nodded. "Along with an orc mercenary known to Ghaji, and a kalashtar that I didn't recognize."
"Obviously, Cathmore learned of your presence in Perhata," Yvka said, "most likely from the orc, since he confronted Ghaji last night. I'd say it's safe to assume that Cathmore directed Solus to slay Diran, along with anyone else who happened to get in the way." The elf woman looked down at Solus's immobile form, greed shining in her gaze. "The question is how Cathmore came to control such a powerful creature as this-and if there are any more of them."
Diran didn't need to be psychic himself to know what Yvka was thinking. While she'd been of great help to them during their encounter with Erdis Cai, as an operative of the Shadow Network, her first loyalty lay with her employers. A construct like Solus, one possessed of vast psionic abilities, would be of great interest to the Shadow Network. The secret of his construction, and more importantly, how to make others like him, would be priceless to them.
"How Cathmore controlled the warforged is obvious," Tresslar said. "It was the kalashtar's doing, and unless I miss my guess, the green crystal embedded in Solus's forehead-the one that caused so much damage when it exploded-was the key to the kalashtar's control. When Solus threatened to break the hold the kalashtar had over him, the man willed the crystal to destroy itself, disrupting the energy matrix of the construct's personality."
"Such a deadly precaution is exactly Cathmore's style," Diran said bitterly.
"What I don't understand is why Cathmore would so openly observe his servant's attack," Asenka said. "Wouldn't he have wished to conceal his connection to Solus?"
"You're thinking of him like an ordinary criminal," Diran said. "Aldarik Cathmore is much more than that. He once was a member of the Brotherhood of the Blade, but he chafed at what he saw as the Brotherhood's restrictive code of conduct. The Brotherhood viewed assassination as a noble-and extremely profitable-profession, but Cathmore believed only in the exercise of power for its own sake. He clashed many times with Emon Gorsedd over their philosophical differences. Eventually he attempted to wrest control of the Brotherhood from Emon, but Emon defeated his half-brother and sent him into exile rather than killing him. At the time, I was impressed by Emon's mercy and restraint. Now, however un-priestly it might be, I wish Emon had chosen otherwise.
"Cathmore's ego is so strong that he doesn't fear exposure or capture, for he believes that he cannot be defeated by mere mortals. Unfortunately, he has the intelligence, skills, and experience to support his overdeveloped sense of self. As for why he was present during Solus's attack, he undoubtedly wanted to witness my demise-and to let me know that it was he who was responsible for my death." Diran paused. "You see, when Cathmore decided to overthrow his half-brother, he tried to garner the support of a number of students at the academy, myself among them. Because Cathmore trained the young students, he was our first teacher, and despite his coldness, we respected him a great deal. Many joined his cause. I… was tempted, but in the end, I remained loyal to Emon Gorsedd. However, I pretended to join Cathmore and spied on him for Emon. My efforts directly led to Cathmore's defeat." Diran smiled. "So you can see why he couldn't stay away during Solus's attack."
"Do you recall what I told you yesterday?" Yvka asked. "About how there have been reports of Cathmore buying supplies in Perhata? Some of those supplies could very well be used in artificer's work."
"Are you suggesting Cathmore has a facility for producing warforged like this?" Tresslar said. "That's impossible! The resources and expertise necessary to design and build such a facility are beyond any one individual, no matter how wealthy or powerful."
"Perhaps," Yvka allowed, "but during the Last War, the Principalities-while technically neutral-aided various factions by allowing them the use of both sea lanes and land. All for a handsome price, of course. It's possible that one of the Dragon-marked Houses established a secret creation forge near here, a forge that Aldarik Cathmore now
controls."
Ghaji frowned. "It sounds as if you know more than you're telling."
Yvka grinned at him. "Always."
"This is most disturbing news," Asenka said. "If such a facility does exist nearby, then we must shut it down. We can't allow someone like Cathmore to create an army of warforged as powerful as Solus."
"My thoughts exactly," Diran said.
"So what are we saying?" Ghaji asked. "That for the time being we forget about our annoyingly persistent barghest friend and go after Cathmore, Chagai, and the kalashtar?"
Diran looked around to gauge the others' reactions, and when no one said anything in protest, he turned to Ghaji and said, "Yes."
Ghaji grinned, displaying his sharp teeth. "Good. After last night I've been itching for a rematch with Chagai."
"You shall have it," Diran said. "That is, if Tresslar can revive Solus so that we can question him and learn the location of Cathmore's stolen forge."
Tresslar scowled. "You're not going to let me say no, are you?"
Diran's only response was a smile.
"Very well," the artificer growled. "I'll need all of you to clear out and leave me alone to work." He turned to Asenka. "And I'll need some artificer's tools and supplies."
"Give me a list, and if what you want is to be found in Perhata, you'll have it-on the baron's expense, of course."
Tresslar nodded. "Good. Now everybody, if you wouldn't mind…"
Diran and the others filed out of the room, but Hinto remained behind.
"I'm staying," the halfling said, "and don't tell me I can't. I can be your assistant. Besides, Solus could use a friend at his side while you work on him."
Diran thought Tresslar would protest, but after a moment's hestitation, the artificer said, "Very well, but try not to get in my way."
Skarm was tired of getting burned by that half-orc's flaming axe. He hurt so much that he was beginning to think it would be preferable to suffer Nathifa's wrath than to continue to try to steal the dragonwand for her, but then he realized how foolish the thought was. Better to suffer the pain of a thousand burns than to risk the unspeakable punishments his dark mistress was capable of doling out.