by Tim Waggoner
A broken wrist wasn’t enough to stop an orc warrior, though. Chagai bared his teeth and lunged, sinking them into Ghaji’s right shoulder—the one already bruised and battered from his collision with Chagai’s breastplate. Ghaji’s hide was tougher than a human’s but not as tough as a full orc’s, and Chagai’s teeth sliced into Ghaji’s flesh as easily as a white-hot knife through butter. Now it was Ghaji’s turn to bellow in pain.
He felt hot blood gush from his wound and splatter onto his chest. The agony was so intense that he thought for a moment that he might lose consciousness. Though he might be only half-orc, he was all warrior, so he fought to ignore the pain. He tossed his axe from his right hand to his left, then swung the butt-end of the weapon upward and smashed the handle into Chagai’s right temple. The blow jarred Chagai’s head, causing the teeth embedded into Ghaji’s shoulder to jerk violently and send a fresh wave of agony surging though the half-orc’s arm. He let out another bellow of pain, but he refused to yield. He hit Chagai in the head once, twice, three times more.
Chagai’s eyes went wide, and Ghaji felt a soft chuff of air escape the orc’s mouth and waft across his shoulder wound. Then Chagai collapsed, and since his teeth were still stuck in Ghaji’s shoulder, the half-orc was pulled down with his foe. As they hit, Chagai’s teeth tore free from Ghaji, causing pain so intense that Ghaji blacked out.
When he came to, he was lying on his back looking up at a blue, cloud-dotted sky. He turned his head, though it hurt like blazes to do so, and saw that Chagai lay next to him. The orc’s eyes were closed, and Ghaji couldn’t tell if he were alive or dead, not that he much cared at this point; he was just glad Chagai wasn’t trying to kill him. He pressed two fingers against the side of Chagai’s neck and felt his pulse. It was weak but steady. It appeared the mercenary commander would live. Too bad.
Slowly, painfully, Ghaji rose to his feet. He’d dropped his axe when Chagai’s dead weight had pulled him down, but he didn’t bother to retrieve the weapon. Chagai was no longer a threat, at least for now. Besides, Ghaji was too weary from the battle and too weak from blood loss to wield the weapon. He pressed a hand to his shoulder wound to staunch the bleeding, then turned to see where Eggera and Murtt were. The two orcs remained by the oak tree, but now they were standing, swords in hand.
Ghaji sighed. “If you plan to kill me, get on with it. I’m too tired to stop you.”
Eggera and Murtt glanced at each other, then shrugged and returned their swords to their scabbards.
“It was a fair fight,” Eggera said.
“Chagai got what he deserved,” Murtt said with a derisive snort. “He should never have attacked you … especially from behind. There was no honor in it.”
Ghaji wanted to say that there was no honor in slaughtering a cottage full of innocents, but he didn’t see much point in bringing that up right then.
“What will you do now, Ghaji?” Eggera asked.
The question was innocent enough, but there was something in the female orc’s tone that added an extra layer of meaning to her words. Battle-prowess was a prime requisite for orcs when searching for a lover. It seemed even a half-orc could make himself attractive to the opposite sex if he bested a superior opponent. Ghaji didn’t know whether to be pleased by this development or angered that it had taken his almost getting killed to get Eggera to notice him. In the end, he decided to ignore the matter entirely.
“There’s a war on. I’m sure I’ll find work elsewhere.” Once I heal, he added. “What of you two? Will you still follow Chagai?”
Murtt’s disdainful grimace was sufficient answer. Still, he said, “Chagai has been defeated and by a half-blood, no less. He is no longer worthy of leading us.” He turned to Eggera. “Let’s go.”
Eggera looked at Ghaji once more, a question in her eyes. Ghaji responded by looking away. A moment later he heard the sound of the two orcs walking away. He didn’t turn around again for several moments, lest he give Eggera the wrong impression, then he spent some time cleaning and bandaging his wound. When he was finished, he returned to Chagai’s side. The orc was beginning to stir, though he had a way to go to reach full consciousness. Ghaji picked up his axe with his left hand and stared down at his former commander. There was no honor in slaying a defenseless foe, but then Chagai hadn’t worried about that last night at the wood-wright’s cottage, had he? Ghaji wasn’t skilled with using his left hand to fight, but he thought he could wield his axe well enough to do what had to be done.
He pressed the edge of his axe blade to Chagai’s throat, and in his mind he once more heard the screams of the wood-wright and his family as they died. Slaying Chagai would be justice, but slaying Chagai while he was helpless would make Ghaji just like him.
Ghaji hesitated. Finally, he pulled the axe away from Chagai’s throat and tucked it beneath his belt. Let Chagai live with the knowledge that he’d been beaten by a half-blood. That would be far worse for him than death.
Ghaji turned to go, then he stopped. He turned back around and looked at Chagai’s breastplate. There was a small dent from where Ghaji had slammed into the metal, but otherwise it was still good as new—if you didn’t count the blood splashed on it from Ghaji’s shoulder wound.
If I’m going to strike out on my own, I could use some armor, he thought.
He knelt down and began undoing the breastplate’s leather straps.
Ghaji opened his eyes to darkness. His head throbbed and his throat felt as if he’d been gargling with the stomach acid of a purple worm. He tried to move and when he couldn’t, he realized that his hands and feet were bound.
If I had a copper piece for every time I’ve been taken prisoner …
The last Ghaji remembered was being attacked by Haaken and the Coldhearts. If he had to bet where he was, he’d guess the hold of the Coldhearts’ ship. Was Diran here as well? He opened his mouth to whisper his friend’s name, but when Ghaji tried to speak, he started coughing, and it took several moments for him to regain control of himself.
“Don’t worry. It’s a side-effect of the drug the Coldhearts used.” Diran’s voice was soft and scratchy but audible. “It’s called the amber sleep, and it’s made from the leaves of a plant that grows in the jungles of Xen’drik. It’s rare and quite expensive. I wonder how Haaken got hold of it.”
“How do you know? Oh, right. Former assassin.” Ghaji struggled to break free of his bonds, but they held tight. He gave up and turned toward Diran’s direction. “Do you still have any of your daggers?”
“Unfortunately not. Haaken and his people not only removed the daggers I carried on my person, they also took my cloak.”
Ghaji was disappointed but not surprised. After all, his axe had been taken as well. Still, they weren’t completely without weapons. “If you’re not already lying down, Diran, do so.”
Ghaji heard rustling nearby. “Done,” Diran said.
Ghaji sighed. He really didn’t want to do this, but he could think of no other way that they could get free. He wriggled over to Diran, lay down on his side, and shifted position until his head was next to Diran’s wrists. Then Ghaji opened his mouth, and using his sharp teeth, he began to carefully gnaw upon the rope binding his friend’s arms behind his back. It only took a few moments for Ghaji to free Diran’s hands, and after he shifted position once more, his feet.
Ghaji spat several times. “I hate the taste of rope.”
“I appreciate your sacrifice, my friend. Allow me to return the favor.”
“Nothing personal, Diran, but you don’t have the teeth for it.”
Diran chuckled. “Perhaps not, but allow me to see what I can find that might serve the same purpose.”
Ghaji listened as Diran searched the hold. He heard boxes being moved, lids being opened, contents shifted about as Diran felt around for something that would cut Ghaji’s bonds. The half-orc’s night vision adjusted to the hold’s darkness, and he was able to make out Diran’s form as the priest moved silently among the cargo, searching. After
some time had passed without Diran having any success, Ghaji began to think that maybe things would go faster if his friend did employ his blunt human teeth to gnaw through the rope binding his wrists and ankles, but finally Diran said, “Ah, here we are!”
“What did you find?”
Diran returned to Ghaji’s side. The half-orc could see that his friend held some sort of object in his right hand, but Ghaji couldn’t quite make out what it was.
“A broken sword. Someone must’ve left it down here in hopes of either repairing it or selling to a smith as scrap. The edge is somewhat dull, but it should serve.”
Diran knelt down next to Ghaji and began sawing at his bonds with the broken sword. Diran only needed to cut partway through the rope, just enough to weaken it so Ghaji could break free, and within moments, Ghaji was standing next to Diran and rubbing his wrists.
“What now?” Ghaji asked. “Do we storm the deck without weapons and take on Haaken and his crew with our bare hands?”
“As emotionally satisfying as that might be, it hardly seems practical, does it?” Diran replied.
“So we wait down here for Haaken to come get us and try to take him by surprise? That doesn’t seem like much of a plan, either.”
“True,” Diran admitted. “I found a crate of oil. I suppose we could use it to start a fire.”
“And do what? Die of smoke inhalation? What if we survive the fire but the ship goes down? As cold as the Lhazaar is, we’d die.”
Diran didn’t disagree with him. “If Haaken simply wanted to kill us, he could have done so easily while we were unconscious. He’s obviously got something else in mind for us, and I wouldn’t be surprised if whatever it is lies at the end of our journey. Perhaps an opportunity for escape shall present itself once we arrive at our destination.”
“What do we do in the meantime?” Ghaji asked. “Just sit here in the hold and twiddle our thumbs?”
“Well, I also found a crate of wine …”
Ghaji thought for a moment then shrugged. “Sounds like a plan.”
Skarm stood at the end of the dock in goblin form, watching as the elemental sloop sped silently out to sea. The barghest possessed many strengths, but flying wasn’t among them, and while he could swim quite fast in his natural form, there was no way he could ever hope to catch up to a vessel as swift as that one. The dragonwand had eluded him again.
In frustration, he gnashed teeth that looked more lupine than goblin. He’d followed the priest’s companions as they made their way to the dock and had observed their meeting with the female vampire—from a safe distance, of course. Skarm had considered making an attempt to snatch the dragonwand then, while everyone was preoccupied, but in the end he’d decided against it. If the vampire was another of the priest’s allies—though Skarm didn’t see how such a thing was possible—then she might well try to stop him. Barghests were strong enough to hold their own against a vampire if need be, but the outcome of such a battle would be in doubt. In the end, Skarm had decided against taking such a risk and had continued to observe and trail behind the others as they continued on to the dock, boarded the elemental sloop, and set sail, leaving Skarm behind.
The barghest was beginning to worry. Nathifa was extremely patient as only the undead could be. After all, she’d been scheming to get her hands on the dragonwand—or rather, the dragonhead affixed to it—for decades, but now that she was so close to achieving her goal, she wouldn’t tolerate many more delays. If he didn’t get his hands on the dragonhead soon, it would go badly for him.
From what Skarm had overheard while following the priest’s friends, it sounded as if they intended to return to Perhata after rescuing the priest and his half-orc servant. Provided they weren’t all killed in the attempt, of course. If so, then he would have another opportunity to take the dragonhead when they once more made port. All he had to do was wait.
He shifted to wolf form. He would be able to hide more effectively in this body, and his animal senses would help alert him when the priest and his companions returned. He padded silently down the deserted dock, intending to find a hiding place in one of the alleys between the various warehouses, fish-sellers, and taverns located nearby, but as he passed one particular vessel—a small trading ship—he caught a whiff of blood mingled with the air’s saltwater tang. Intrigued, he leapt aboard the vessel with lupine grace. Sniffing as he went, he traced the smell to the ship’s hold. He shifted back to goblin form, opened the hatch, and climbed down the ladder.
Save for some crates and supplies, the hold was empty. Skarm shifted back to wolf form and sniffed the air. The smell of blood was stronger here, as was another smell: the faint sour-musty stink of decay. Skarm recognized it as the scent of a vampire, and not just any vampire—the one who’d accompanied the priest’s friends on their rescue mission. He sniffed once more and caught a human’s scent … a male. Skarm’s lupine mouth stretched into a goblinish smile. Evidently the vampire woman had fed here and then disposed of the body before leaving. Too bad. Even drained of blood, the corpse would’ve made a nice snack for Skarm. He consoled himself by licking up the few drops of blood the vampire had spilled—they were almost dry, but still tasty enough—and then he returned to goblin form and climbed back up onto the deck. He was grateful the Dark Six had led him to this vessel: she would make a suitable vantage point to wait for the priest and his friends to make port again.
After a quick search to satisfy himself that there was no one else on board, he changed back into his wolf form and settled down on the deck, head on paws, eyes closed, alert for any sound or scent that would indicate his prey’s return.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Asenka had never been aboard an elemental sloop before. She wondered if she could get Baron Mahir to purchase one for the Sea Scorpions. The wind spirit that powered the craft was bound to a metal containment ring at the aft of the sloop and manifested as a glowing blue mass of swirling energy inside the ring. Wind issued forth from the ring to fill the Zephyr’s sails full to bursting. Yvka sat in a chair in front of the ring, one hand working the tiller while the other rested on the chair’s arm, using a magical control built into the chair to command the elemental. In addition, the ship was constructed from soarwood—a substance so preternaturally smooth and light that it produced virtually no friction—and her runners slid over the surface of the sea as easily as if she were moving over solid ice. The craft was making phenomenal speed, so much so that Asenka, who’d spent the majority of her life at sea, needed to hold onto the ship’s railing to steady herself.
“Where did you berth this craft?” Asenka called out over the roaring of the elemental’s wind. “I would’ve known if such a vessel had been kept at the main docks.”
The elfwoman turned toward Asenka. “I find it best to keep the Zephyr away from prying eyes—not to mention greedy hands. I have access to a number of … alternate ports scattered around the Principalities. Let’s just leave it at that.” Yvka’s voice was strained, her face grim. She looked away from Asenka and concentrated anew on piloting the vessel.
Asenka scowled. She understood that the elfwoman was concerned for her missing companions—especially Ghaji—but Asenka didn’t appreciate being dismissed so casually. As commander of the Sea Scorpions, she wasn’t used to being kept in the dark. She’d been reluctant to join the crew of the Zephyr, but she knew the elemental sloop was their only chance of catching up to the Coldhearts. The rest of the Scorpions had set sail at the same time the Zephyr had pulled away from the dock, and though their vessel was a fine one, there was no way she could keep up with the elemental sloop. That was the reason Asenka had joined the others aboard and ordered her second in command to captain the Scorpions’ ship. Since she was a guest, she didn’t feel it was best for her to push Yvka for too much information. She could learn more about these “secret ports” later, after they’d rescued Diran and Ghaji.
Still, wherever the elfwoman had kept her ship hidden, she couldn’t have
been too difficult to locate. After all, Makala had found her. The evidence lay right there on the deck before her: a large obsidian sarcophagus with strange runes carved into the sides. This was the object Makala had said she needed to move onto the Zephyr before she could accompany them on their rescue mission. Even knowing that Makala wasn’t human, Asenka still had a difficult time imagining the slim, petite woman moving something so massive onto the ship by herself, but the sarcophagus had already been on the ship when Yvka sailed her from her hiding place and picked up the rest of them at the dock, which meant Makala had been able to move the object, presumably by herself, in a short amount of time.
Asenka gazed up the obsidian sarcophagus and shuddered. The lid was closed and Makala rested inside; asleep or awake, Asenka didn’t know. Makala had shut herself in before the Zephyr left Perhata, saying that she could only tolerate sea travel while sealed within the stone coffin. She’d also made it clear that due to the enchantment on the box, she couldn’t open it from within. One of them would have to open it for her. Given the sort of creature Makala was, Asenka didn’t think it would be a bad thing if they never let her out, but since Makala was a friend of the others—or at least had once been a companion of theirs—Asenka decided to keep this opinion to herself. Still, she was glad the woman was shut away; it made her feel safer.
She recalled Makala’s burning crimson eyes, once more heard her harsh, throaty voice. I do not want to harm you, but remember what I said. I’ll do anything to protect Diran. Anything.
Asenka couldn’t help shuddering anew.
Tresslar and Hinto stood at the bow of the ship, looking forward, their backs to the sloop’s cabin, as well as to Makala’s dark sarcophagus. On purpose? she wondered. Probably. As uncomfortable as she was looking at the thing, it had to be worse for Makala’s friends, who evidently had known her when she was human.
Asenka decided to leave Yvka to her work, and still holding onto the railing for support, made her way to the bow. It was still night, but they’d sailed out of the fog and the stars shone brightly above, their light reflected like a scattering of diamonds on the surface of the Lhazaar. The sea air was cold, especially with the breeze kicked up by the Zephyr’s swift passage, and Asenka shivered as she joined Tresslar and Hinto at the bow. The halfling was swaddled in a fur cloak to protect him against the cold, as was the artificer, but as she drew near, she could’ve sworn that the air felt warmer.