Forge of the Mindslayers: Blade of the Flame Book 2

by Tim Waggoner

  The tall man smiled, and Solus’s stolen memories whispered that it was a warm, friendly smile. “My name is Galharath. I am your friend.”

  Solus did not possess facial features capable of expression, but if he had, he would’ve frowned. “How can this be so? I do not know you.” Yet he couldn’t escape the feeling that he did know this man, this Galharath, only he couldn’t remember from where.

  The man put a hand on Solus’s shoulder, and the psi-forged saw that Galharath wore leather gauntlets containing more crystals embedded over the knuckles. The crystals pulsed with soft, gentle light—and they pulsed in time with the glow emanating from the larger crystal shard attached to the front of Galharath’s vest. Solus thought this detail was important, but he wasn’t sure why.

  “You may not know me now, but you knew me once,” Galharath said, “before your memories were taken from you.”

  “My memories … taken?”

  “You still retain a few faint echoes of memory, the merest scraps of the knowledge you once possessed. I have some small skill with matters of the mind, and I’ve been working to restore your memories but without success. I have come to realize that your memories aren’t simply damaged. They are gone, and this is the man who took them.”

  Galharath turned the palm of his free hand upward. Colors shimmered into existence above his hand and formed the image of a human male’s face with long black hair and a lean, wolfish aspect. His gaze was hard and cold, the gaze of a man who felt no pity and gave no mercy.

  “Is that him? The man you say took my memories?”

  “It is. His name is Diran Bastiaan—a worshipper of evil gods whose only reason for existence is to spread misery across Khorvaire. He is the one who has your memories. Only by confronting him can we hope to get them back.”

  Solus didn’t take his gaze off the face of Diran Bastiaan as he spoke. “How can we do that?”

  “As I told you, I have some ability with matters of the mind. You also possess great strength of your own. Though Bastiaan is stronger than either of us alone, together we shall prove more than a match for his dark power.”

  Solus continued gazing at the image of Diran Bastiaan’s face. He certainly looked like a man capable of the kind of evil that Galharath described, yet Solus couldn’t help feeling that something wasn’t right here, that he was missing something vital, though he had no idea what that might be.

  “Your thoughts are in such turmoil, my friend.” Galharath’s tone was sympathetic and caring. “It pains me to think of the confusion that torments you so. Help me to heal you. Help me find Diran Bastiaan, and together we shall reclaim that which is rightfully yours.”

  Solus looked at the image hovering in the air above Galharath’s palm for an instant longer before reaching out and closing his three-fingered hand around Diran Bastiaan’s face, snuffing it out of existence.

  “Where is this monster?” Solus asked.

  Smiling, Galharath pointed to the city spread out below them.

  Chagai got to his feet when he heard the sounds of movement coming from within the workshop. A moment later, the psi-forged strode forth with heavy footfalls, Galharath following close behind.

  “Were you successful?” Cathmore asked, voice tight with barely restrained excitement.

  “I was,” the kalashtar said, “and we can speak freely. Our friend is now the sole inhabitant of his own private mindscape. He shall see and hear only what I permit—as long as I remain close to him, that is.”

  Solus didn’t pause during this exchange. He continued walking toward the stairs at the far end of the workshop level.

  “Perhaps you succeeded too well, artificer,” Chagai said. “We’ll have to get moving if we don’t want the construct to leave us behind.”

  “Indeed,” Cathmore said. “Let’s go.” The elderly assassin started hobbling after the psi-forged, Galharath and Chagai on either side of him.

  Asenka stood toward the aft of the Zephyr, though not so close that she could overhear what Yvka and Ghaji were saying to each other. Though in truth, given the howling wind that poured forth from the elemental containment ring to fill the sloop’s sails, she would’ve had to be standing right next to the two lovers to hear anything. Still, she wanted to give them their privacy, so she stayed where she was.

  Hinto slept inside the Zephyr’s cabin, while Tresslar stood at the port railing holding his dragonwand out almost as if it were a fishing rod. Asenka had no idea what the artificer was doing, but he appeared to be in deep concentration, so she didn’t wish to disturb him, and Makala … Asenka’s eyes strayed to the obsidian sarcophagus resting on the deck between the containment ring and the cabin. She was close enough to the stone coffin that it would only take half a dozen steps for her to reach it. She wished they didn’t have to keep the damned thing above deck, but the Zephyr was a small vessel built for speed, not hauling cargo, and there wasn’t enough room below. She knew that the sarcophagus couldn’t be opened from the inside, and that even if Makala did somehow get out, she wouldn’t be able to withstand the light of the sun. Even so, she didn’t feel comfortable with the thing—and the creature it contained—always present, and it seemed she wasn’t the only one who felt that way, though perhaps for different reasons.

  Diran stood at the bow of the Zephyr, gripping the railing to steady himself, his long black hair billowing behind him in the wind. His cloak barely stirred in the breeze, and Asenka knew that was because the daggers sheathed inside the inner lining weighted it down. The priest hadn’t said much since coming aboard the Zephyr, and no one had made an issue of his silence. They’d also obviously made a point of leaving him alone. Asenka felt sorry for Diran. From what she gathered, this was the first time he’d seen Makala since her transformation into a vampire … a transformation that for some reason Diran felt responsible for. She wanted to go to him and be a sympathetic ear if nothing else, but she couldn’t bring herself to disturb his self-imposed solitude, much as she might wish otherwise.

  Asenka’s thoughts turned to what had occurred so far during their journey back to Perhata. So swiftly did the elemental sloop travel that they’d already encountered the Water Dragon, still only two-thirds of the way to Demothi Island. Yvka had stopped the Zephyr long enough for Asenka to tell the Sea Scorpions what had happened and order them to return home. She felt somewhat foolish doing so, for it pointed up the fact that Diran hadn’t needed her and her people at all. The priest’s friends had proved quite capable of coming to his aid all on their own—if only to give Diran and Ghaji a ride back to Perhata.

  Asenka still couldn’t believe that Diran and Ghaji had broken the curse on Demothi Island by themselves. She didn’t know why she had ever imagined she might be of any use to them … to him. She wasn’t a war veteran or an adventurer. She was just the fleet commander for a third-rate barony in a region teeming with them. As the saying went in the Principalities, there are more fish in the Lhazaar than barons, but only just.

  At least her baron wouldn’t have to worry about Haaken and the Coldhearts anymore. Though not all of their bodies had been found, Asenka felt confident that they had perished either at the hands of Diran and Ghaji or when their ship had run aground. Either way, they were no longer a concern, and it would be some time before Baroness Calida could rebuild her fleet. Until that happened, Perhata would control the Gulf of Ingjald. Baron Mahir would certainly be pleased, even if the victory wasn’t the Sea Scorpions’ doing.

  Though the sun was well above the eastern horizon now and the sky was clear, it was still quite cold aboard the Zephyr, and Asenka thought the wind stirred up by their swift passage was only partially to blame. She also noticed that thin patches of ice coated the deck and railing in numerous places—the first ice she had seen since the elemental sloop had set sail the night before. Since she didn’t have anything else to do, she decided to go speak to Tresslar about it. Besides, it would give her a chance to find out just what the artificer was doing with his wand. She headed over to
join Tresslar and, not wishing to break his concentration, she waited for him to acknowledge her presence. When he didn’t, she spoke up.

  “There are patches of ice on the ship.”

  Tresslar didn’t turn to look at her. “Hmm?”

  “I think something might be wrong with whatever warming spell you placed on the Zephyr.”

  That got the artificer’s attention. He snapped his head around to face her, features twisted into a disapproving scowl. “What are you talking about? When I cast a spell, it …” He trailed off and rubbed his free hand over a tiny spot of ice on the railing in front of him. His expression softened, as did his tone. “Oh. I see what you mean. I’ll tend to it at once.”

  Tresslar touched the golden dragonhead on the end of his wand to the ice on the railing. As near as Asenka could tell, the artificer didn’t do anything, but a moment later tiny curls of steam issued forth from the dragonhead’s nostrils—though there didn’t appear to be any sort of opening in them. The steam touched the ice, melting it instantly. The wispy coils didn’t evaporate, though. Instead they began to expand, spreading all along the port railing, then—Asenka looked over her shoulder—to the starboard railing. The steam, moving more like fog now, rolled down the railing and onto the deck, picking up speed as it spread. It coated the deck, the cabin, the mast and sails, and even the containment ring and Yvka’s chair, though it never touched any of the people on the Zephyr. There was only one other thing that the steam didn’t come in contact with: Makala’s obsidian coffin. The warm white mist passed around the black sarcophagus, coming no closer than three inches to the unholy dark stone. Once it had covered the entire ship, the steam-coating lingered for several seconds before finally dissipating in the wind.

  Asenka could feel the difference at once. The air around them was noticeably warmer, as was the deck beneath their feet.

  “That was most impressive,” Asenka said, and she meant it. “Thank you, but it was nothing. A mere trifle.” Despite Tresslar’s words, it was clear her praise pleased him.

  Since he seemed in a better mood now, Asenka decided to keep talking. “Earlier, I noticed you were holding your wand out before you almost as if it were a fishing rod.”

  Tresslar chuckled. “I suppose I was fishing, after a fashion. The golden dragonhead has the ability to absorb and store magical energy. I can then release this energy at a later time and use it for whatever task I wish. Though it’s easier to simply cast the same sort of spell that was originally absorbed. Using heat energy to create heat, as opposed to trying to use it to try and create wind, like the elemental bound in the Zephyr’s containment ring. That sort of thing.”

  Asenka wasn’t exactly sure what Tresslar was talking about, but she nodded anyway. “So you were … what? Fishing for magic?”

  Tresslar grinned. “Precisely. While the dragonhead needs to be in direct contact with an enchanted object to draw its full energy, it can absorb a certain amount of background magic. Many sea creatures possess mystic power to varying degrees, and the dragonwand is capable of taking in the magical residue they leave behind. It’s not a great deal of energy, mind you, but I learned a long time ago that it doesn’t pay to let the wand’s energy level dip too low.”

  A faraway look crept into Tresslar’s gaze, and Asenka wondered what the elderly artificer was recalling.

  The dragonhead on the end of the wand was a beautiful piece of workmanship, with red gems for eyes and teeth made of crystal. “It’s a most remarkable device,” Asenka said. “I’ve never seen an artificer carry anything quite like it before.”

  Tresslar snapped back to the present. “And no wonder. I’m the only one in the Principalities—or Khorvaire, for that matter—who has anything like it.” He looked down at the dragonwand, turning it this way and that, as if examining it for the first time. “It may well be the only object of its kind in all of Eberron.” He spoke this last bit softly, as if talking to himself.

  “I sense there’s a story for the telling here.”

  Tresslar looked up at her, as if startled. “Well … yes, but it’s not one I’ve ever told before.” He glanced toward the bow where Diran still stood motionless, staring out at the slate-gray waters of the Lhazaar. “Not to anyone.”

  “A story might help pass the time until we return to Perhata.”

  Tresslar looked at her a long moment before finally saying, “Yes. I suppose it would.”

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  I was twenty-four, and I’d been sailing on the Seastar with Erdis Cai for almost two years.”

  Asenka blinked in surprise, unsure she’d heard correctly. “You mean Erdis Cai, the explorer?”

  Tresslar gave her a small, sad smile, so unlike his previous boastful attitude. “The same.”

  “But the Seastar hasn’t been seen in the Principalities since before I was born!”

  Tresslar’s smile grew a bit wider. “It was a long time ago.”

  “I meant no offense, but if you sailed with Erdis Cai, then you must know what happened to him and the rest of his crew. There are so many stories …”

  Tresslar’s smile fell away.

  Asenka sensed there was another tale here, one that was difficult for Tresslar to speak of. Still, one story at a time. “So you were twenty-four,” Asenka prompted.

  “Yes, and the Seastar was headed for Trebaz Sinara.”

  Asenka almost interrupted again, but she stopped herself. Trebaz Sinara … Every child in the Principalities had grown up listening to stories about the fabled island. According to legend, Trebaz Sinara was inhabited by the most terrible of monsters and surrounded by treacherous reefs that made landing there all but impossible, but legend also told that the island contained the hidden treasure of two thousand years of pirate raids—gold, precious gems, dragonshards, mystic relics … objects of unimaginable wealth and power. There were also said to be ancient tombs on the island, but who had built them, or what dark secrets they held within their sealed walls, remained a mystery.

  Asenka knew that Trebaz Sinara was a real place, but she’d never spoken to anyone who had actually been there. Tresslar suddenly seemed less like a crotchety old man than a figure who had stepped right out of legend. As attentive as she’d been before, she was doubly so now.

  Tresslar continued. “We’d sailed past the island numerous times on our way to Regalport or Orgalos, but we’d never attempted to make landfall before, though every time we passed Trebaz Sinara, Erdis made sure the Seastar always came in view of the island, even if it added days to our journey. He would stand at the railing and gaze out upon the deadly reefs that ringed the island, and though he wouldn’t say anything, his eyes gleamed with desire, and we all knew that he was trying to imagine what riches and adventures might lie waiting for him there.

  “Two weeks earlier we had put in to Skairn for supplies, and Erdis, who was something of a card sharp, had entered a high-stakes game of three-pronged crown between a number of prominent, not to mention notorious, sea captains. It was even rumored that several barons were in attendance. However, since Erdis was the only one of the Seastar present, I cannot confirm this. The game lasted for three days straight, and when it was over, Erdis had managed to double his money, but one of the players who owed Erdis had run out of funds, and he paid off his debt with a treasure map.

  “I know what you’re thinking: every lowlife gambler in the Principalities tries to pay off his or her debts with false treasure maps, but this debtor was a merchant lord of some repute and was also a longstanding acquaintance of Erdis’s, so he accepted the map without even looking it over, though in truth Erdis was doubtful it would prove to be of any real value. Once back aboard the Seastar, and after getting some much-needed sleep, Erdis finally examined the map. He couldn’t believe what he was looking at: the map depicted the northeastern tip of Trebaz Sinara, and what’s more, it showed a route through the reefs. Erdis could no more resist the map’s lure than a starving wolf can resist a plump, slow-footed sheep, so
we set sail immediately. Two weeks later we dropped anchor off the coast of Trebaz Sinara.

  “Erdis selected a landing crew of a half dozen men and women, myself among them. As ship’s artificer, I often accompanied Erdis on dangerous trips, and I’m proud to say that my skills with magic saved his life on more than one occasion, but this time I was ambivalent to be going along. After all, this was Trebaz Sinara, and I feared there was no chance of our coming back alive. Still, it was my duty to go, and truth be told, I would rather have died than display cowardice before Erdis. He ordered a long boat lowered into the water. We climbed aboard and began rowing to the reef. Since Erdis preferred that I save my strength for working magic, I was able to sit and watch while others rowed. Erdis stood at the prow of the boat, map unfurled in his hands, and barked out orders to the rowers: ’Five full strokes, three port, seven starboard!’ The rowers obeyed his commands instantly, and we began the long, twisting journey through the barrier maze of reef. How long it took us, I cannot say, but at last we won free of the reef and rowed the rest of the way to shore. The entire time we were in open water, I kept expecting some manner of monster to burst out of the sea and devour us, but none did, and I began to wonder if the stories of the terrible creatures that infested Trebaz Sinara were nothing but sea tales, perhaps originated by the ancient pirates who hid their treasure upon the island to discourage those who would attempt to search for it. Whichever the case, we made landfall without incident. We gathered our weapons and supplies, and set off for the island’s interior, with Erdis leading the way, of course.

  “From the start, it was clear that there was something strange about the island, or at least the northeastern portion of it. The landscape was a patchwork of different kinds of vegetation and soil. There were the usual trees that you expect to see in the Principalites: oak, elm, ash, fir, evergreen … but there were also trees that rightfully belonged to warmer climes: cypress, orange blossom, palm trees … Tropical fruit trees were abundant as well, and though it was summer, such fruit did not belong there, did not exist anywhere else in the Principalities, so far as any of us knew. The soil was just as varied. Sometimes it was a rich moist black, other times dry red clay, and sometimes it was cracked, barren, and lifeless as any desert. The air was still and stale, and as we trekked across the island following the path laid out in Erdis’s map, we began to feel weighed down, as if some invisible force had settled on us and was slowly, inexorable pushing us toward the ground. Adding to the overall oppressive atmosphere was an eerie silence. Monsters or no, an island of that size, with all that vegetation, should’ve been teeming with birds, animals, and insects, yet we saw or heard no signs of such life as we walked.