by Tim Waggoner
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, body 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 h
im 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.
The barghest clung to the roof of the Sea Scorpions’ barracks in his natural form. Three quarters of his fur had been burned away, and his flesh was a mass of suppurating blisters, but he’d heal soon enough, especially after he found a victim to devour. For the time being he’d have to content himself with the mild relief provided by the cool breeze wafting in from the sea. It was late afternoon, almost dusk, and the sun was riding low in the sky, something else to be grateful for. Even though the air was cold this time of year, Skarm didn’t think he could stand the heat from direct sunlight yet.
His hearing wasn’t as acute in his natural form as it was in wolf shape, but it was good enough to allow the barghest to overhear the discussion that had taken place beneath him. He hadn’t witnessed the psi-forged’s attack on the priest and his companions, but he’d heard it from where he’d clung to the piling beneath the dock. He understood that the construct and those who’d commanded it had come from Mount Luster—they were the “neighbors” that Skarm and his mistress had been aware of for some time. Skarm hadn’t known they were in possession of a creation forge, however. Most interesting. Also interesting was the fact that Diran Bastiaan and his companions sounded determined to go after the current residents of Mount Luster, provided they could rouse the psi-forged and get him to tell them the location of his masters. Skarm was confident that they would succeed, especially since their artificer had the Amahau to rely on.
So far Skarm had had been unable to retrieve the Amahau on his own, and right now he was too wounded and weak to even think about making another attempt. Yet if the priest and his friends traveled to Mount Luster, they’d bring the Amahau with them—almost directly to Nathifa’s doorstep—and by then Skarm would be fully healed and could make another try for the Amahau. Also, he thought his mistress would be interested to learn about the creation forge hidden within Mount Luster. Most interested, indeed.
Skarm made his way to the edge of the roof—every movement of his burned body an agony—and dropped to the ground. He clamped his mouth shut to keep from screaming in pain as he landed, then limped off to find a victim so that his healing might begin in earnest.
In a seldom used chamber within Mount Luster—one devoid entirely of furnishings—the air rippled and blurred. When space resumed its normal shape, the chamber was no longer empty. Cathmore, Chagai, and Galharath had returned home, thanks to teleportation capabilities of one of the kalashtar’s crystals.
“I thought that went rather well,” Cathmore said.
“You must be joking,” Chagai said. “Not only did the construct fail to destroy Bastiaan, Galharath was forced to destroy it.” For a supposed master assassin, you managed to miss your target most effectively, Chagai added mentally.
Cathmore was unfazed by Chagai’s criticism. “True, the outcome was less than I’d hoped for, but our test was not entirely without success. The potential demonstrated by Solus was most impressive, and now that we have a better understanding of his flaws, we can make sure that the psi-forged we produce are more … tractable.”
“We still have a long way to go,” Galharath cautioned, “though I agree our experience with Solus will help us reach that day more quickly.”
“You realize that Bastiaan, Ghaji, and the others will track us to Mount Luster?” Chagai asked.
Cathmore grinned. “Of course. We shall prepare an appropriate welcome for them.”
Chagai scowled. “I thought the kalashtar said we can’t produce our own psi-forged yet.”
“Correct,” Galharath confirmed, “but the facility’s builders designed the forge to be adapted for use as a defense system.” It might have been a trick of the light, but the psionic artificer’s eyes seemed to glow momentarily. “With a few adjustments, the psi-forge itself can be turned into a weapon—and a most deadly one at that.”
Now it was Chagai’s turn to grin.
The instant the sun vanished below the horizon, a knocking sound came from within the obsidian sarcophagus. Diran opened the lid partway, and Makala’s hand emerged to grip the lid and push it the rest of the way open. Despite himself Diran took a step backward as Makala sat up and turned to look at him. The crimson fire of undeath danced in her eyes, mingled with an all-too-human sorrow upon seeing Diran’s reaction.
“I’m sorry,” Diran said.
Makala didn’t acknowledge his apology. Instead she climbed out of the sarcophagus with a fluid grace that was as alluring as it was inhuman and stepped onto the deck of the Zephyr. Makala closed the lid of her resting place.
She looked around. “I see we’re in a lagoon of some sort. Are we back in Perhata?”
; “Close by,” Diran said. “This is one of the Shadow Network’s hidden ports. The lagoon is concealed by an illusion spell that makes it seem as if this area is nothing but desolate shoreline. Yvka brought me here so that I could … let you out.”
“Thank you.”
For several moments neither of them spoke. There was so much Diran wanted to say to her, but he had no idea how to begin. Finally, Makala broke the silence.
“I assume we had an uneventful trip back from Demothi Island.”
“Yes, though our arrival was anything but.” Diran filled her in on everything that had occurred while she’d slumbered. When he was finished, her eyes blazed with crimson fire, and her canine teeth had become more pronounced.
“Aldarik Cathmore … I never thought I’d see him again. At least, I hoped I wouldn’t.” Like Diran, Makala had remained loyal to Emon Gorsedd when Cathmore had attempted to take over the Brotherhood of the Blade, and she’d felt nothing but hatred for the man ever since. “You’re going to kill him, of course.”
Diran was shocked by how casually Makala spoke these words. “I intend to stop him from using the psi-forge for his own purposes.”
Makala smiled, fully displaying her incisors, and she reached up to touch Diran’s cheek with fingers cold as ice. “I understand that you follow a different path now, but surely even one of the Purified knows that you can’t allow a beast like Cathmore to live. He may be human, Diran, but he’s just as evil as any of the undead creatures that you’ve destroyed.”
“And more so than some,” he acknowledged, “but I’m not an assassin anymore, Makala. I kill only when I have no other choice.”
Makala’s smile widened a fraction more than seemed humanly possible. “That makes two of us.”
A chill that had nothing to do with the cold late-autumn air skittered down Diran’s spine.
“Where is Cathmore?” Makala asked.
“I believe he’s taken possession of a hidden creation-forge facility somewhere in the Hoarfrost Mountains. Probably not too far from here, as he sends his orc servant into Perhata for supplies from time to time. Tresslar is working on restoring the warforged to consciousness so that we can question him and learn Cathmore’s exact location.”