Forge of the Mindslayers: Blade of the Flame Book 2

by Tim Waggoner

  Makala continued flying through the night air, allowing her senses to guide her rather than consciously choosing her direction. She could detect the scent of blood over great distances, whether it had been spilled or was still contained within a living body. She’d already sniffed out a band of elven hunters as well as a small enclave of kobolds who made their home in the mountains. Both times she’d been tempted to stop and feed a little to tide her over until she found Cathmore, but she’d resisted. She preferred to save her appetite for the main course.

  She had other senses than smell to rely on, however. Her hearing was so sharp that she could pick up the soft whisper of blood as it pulsed through living veins, and she could feel the warmth radiating from a living body as if it were a miniature sun. If Cathmore was anywhere within these mountains, she’d find him.

  She flew on, preternatural senses searching, searching …

  As she flew, she tried to imagine the taste of Cathmore’s blood as it filled her mouth and ran down her throat.

  Like most orcs and half-orcs, Ghaji wasn’t fond of horses—unless they were on a plate. That was all right, though, since by and large the beasts didn’t care for him either. As much he disliked the smelly nags, he’d rather be sitting on the back of the most odiferous, foul-tempered horse than the so-called steed he currently rode: a nine-foot tall bird with long, powerfully muscled legs and tiny useless wings. The creature was called a stone-stepper because of its ability to gracefully navigate the rough terrain here in the foothills of the Hoarfrost Mountains, but Ghaji thought a better name would’ve been ass-breaker because of how uncomfortable it was to ride the monstrous avian. Asenka had supplied the mounts for them. The Sea Scorpions served as Baron Mahir’s elite warriors on both sea and land, and when they needed to negotiate the mountainous terrain to the west of the city, they relied on the giant birds. According to Asenka, in the wild the creatures were fearsome predators and had phenomenal eyesight, during both the day and the night.

  “Enjoying the ride, love?”

  Yvka rode behind Ghaji, her arms wrapped around the half-orc’s waist. Ghaji held tight to the stone-stepper’s reins, though he knew he didn’t have any real control over the creature. Luckily, the giant birds seemed content to move as a flock—or herd, or whatever—so he didn’t have to do much more than hold on, which was hard enough given the stone-stepper’s swiftly lurching gait.

  “I’ve taken sword-thrusts to the gut that I’ve enjoyed more.”

  Yvka laughed and snuggled against his back. “At least it’s cozy.”

  “That’s the only good thing about it,” Ghaji grumbled.

  They traveled in a group of four stone-steppers. Diran and Asenka rode the lead bird, then came Hinto and Solus, then Tresslar who rode alone, and Ghaji and Yvka brought up the rear on their mount. All of them were dressed warmly against the cold night air—all save Solus, of course. Warforged needed no protection against temperature extremes. The stone-steppers’ saddles were designed to carry two riders per bird, and the stone-steppers were both large enough and strong enough to carry a pair of riders with ease. Ghaji would’ve preferred to ride in a group formation rather than single file for better security, but Asenka had said that the birds wouldn’t travel any other way. As the kidney-jarring journey wore on, Ghaji had to admit that single file worked best while navigating the uneven, craggy ground and squeezing through narrow mountain passes.

  “I hope Solus knows where he’s going,” Ghaji said. “I’m not convinced Tresslar put the pieces of the warforged’s head back together in the right order.”

  “Solus has done well enough so far,” Yvka said.

  The warforged had been calling out directions to Diran ever since they’d left Perhata, and though the construct occasionally seemed unsure which way to go, most of the time he spoke with confidence.

  “Do you really think Solus can track the kalashtar’s ‘psychic trail,’ whatever that means?”

  “I’m no expert,” Yvka said, “but I’ve seen psionic crystals before, and Solus is covered with them. They alone make him a very valuable piece of property.” As if realizing she’d misspoken, the elf woman hurried to add, “I mean the crystals themselves are worth quite a bit. There would be no purpose to building a warforged with such crystals if he couldn’t use them.”

  “I suppose,” Ghaji said, “but possessing a tool is not the same as being skilled in its use.”

  Yvka didn’t reply, and Ghaji didn’t know if that meant she agreed or disagreed with him or simply didn’t have anything to add. They continued to ride in silence, and Ghaji found himself remembering a conversation he and Diran had had while the Sea Scorpions’ groom was getting the stone-steppers saddled.

  “Do you trust this warforged?” Ghaji had asked. “He did almost kill you.”

  “Yes,” Diran replied. “Solus managed to fight off the kalashtar’s control and restrain himself. He showed mercy.”

  “Maybe, but what if Cathmore planned for Solus to fail? Maybe the old bastard knew Solus wouldn’t kill you, and he only intended for the attack to lure you into coming after him.” Ghaji thought of his encounter with Chagai, and how the orc mercenary had avoided engaging him in fight to the finish. “Lure the two of us. We could be riding into a trap.”

  Diran smiled. “What else is new?”

  The seven companions rode on, the only sounds the scrabbling of clawed avian feet on rock, the creaking of leather saddles, and the strangely soothing trill the giant birds made as they traveled.

  The stone-steppers’ group song, along with the heat given off by their mount’s feathered body, had almost lulled Ghaji to sleep when Solus called out, “There!”

  Ghaji’s eyes flew open, and he looked to see the psi-forged pointing toward a small mountain that rose like a black shadow against the night sky.

  Asenka called out a command in a language Ghaji didn’t recognize, and the stone-stepper she and Diran rode came to a halt. Though she gave no other command, the rest of the birds also stopped.

  “It’s called Mount Luster,” Solus said, his normally emotionless voice tinged with excitement. “That’s where I was created, and that’s where we shall find Cathmore and the others.” The psi-forged paused, and when he spoke again, his tone was almost apologetic. “At least … I think so.”

  Diran looked to the others. “Well? Do we give it a try?”

  “Let’s go,” Ghaji said. “The sooner we get there, the sooner I can get off this damned bony-backed chicken.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  Galharath stood within the mouth of the psi-forge, his back to the table where Solus had been born, his hands grasping a pair of crystalline rings that hung in the air over his head. To the uninitiated, it would’ve appeared as if the kalashtar was simply holding the rings, but in truth they were bound to the invisible psionic energies surging through the forge, and if Galharath let go of them, the rings would continue to hold their position, as if held aloft by magic, but the power the rings allowed Galharath to tap into was far greater than any mere thaumaturgy; it was the full, unfettered strength of his own mind, made all the stronger by its connection to the psi-forge. The forge was powered by vast geothermal energies surging beneath Mount Luster, and now Galharath could draw upon that power too.

  The sensations were beyond anything the kalashtar had ever experienced before. He felt intimately connected to all of creation while at the same time feeling as if he didn’t exist. He knew pleasure beyond conception along with agony so intense there were no words for it. He was All, he was Nothing, he was Everything.

  This must be what it feels like to be a god, he thought.

  With the merest fraction of his awareness, he detected the presence of living beings approaching Mount Luster. The aura of one of these beings far outshone the others, like a blazing bonfire burning in the blackest of nights, and Galharath knew it was Solus.

  “They’re here,” the kalashtar said, his voice a dreamy singsong, as if he were halfway
between sleep and wakefulness.

  Cathmore stood outside the psi-forge’s entrance, Chagai at his side. The old man rubbed his claw hands together with undisguised glee upon hearing Galharath’s news.

  “Excellent! Is everything in readiness?”

  Galharath was barely aware at first of the old man’s question.

  Cathmore repeated Galharath’s name more sharply, and the psionic artificer reluctantly allowed himself to recall the old man’s existence.

  “The psi-forge has been fully reconfigured into its defense mode. The inner walls of the facility have been shielded so that the psionic energies cannot be detected from outside. Solus will not be able to warn the others until it’s too late. You may take up your positions now. I’ll do the rest.”

  Chagai growled. “Who are you to be giving us orders, kalashtar?”

  Galharath turned to look at Chagai. Through the orc’s eyes, Galharath could see that his own eyes blazed with white light. He was pleased to see that the effect was quite intimidating.

  Chagai stomped off to the corner of the chamber that had been assigned to him. Cathmore, however, lingered a moment.

  “Be wary, Galharath,” the elderly assassin said. “For most of my life, I have shared my body with my dark spirit. I know how difficult it can be to keep from becoming subsumed by power and losing one’s individual identity. Make certain that it is you who controls the forge’s energy, not the other way around.”

  With that, the old man hobbled off in the opposite direction from Chagai. Normally, Galharath would’ve been irritated by Cathmore’s suggestion that he wasn’t strong or skilled enough to maintain contol of the psi-forge, but the kalashtar was beyond such petty emotions now. Such things were a limitation of the flesh, and here, within the forge, he was pure intellect. All there was to do now was to enjoy this blissful state and wait for Diran Bastiaan and his companions to arrive, and once they had been dealt with, perhaps Galharath would take care of Cathmore and Chagai as well.

  Galharath smiled, his teeth glowing from the psionic energy that surged like molten liquid through his body.

  The power roiling within the psi-forge cast flickering light throughout the cavernous chamber deep within the heart of Mount Luster. Despite the fitful illumination, none of the three present—not Cathmore, Chagai, or even Galharath—noticed a pool of thick shadow against one wall … shadow the light could not touch.

  Skarm, in barghest form, huddled next to his mistress. He wished he could hide behind her, but he knew such a sign of cowardice would only incur her wrath, so he had to settle for crouching as close to her as she would allow. He understood that Nathifa’s spell allowed them to see through the cloak of shadow she’d erected to conceal them, but Skarm still felt exposed. He wasn’t afraid of the orc nor of the kalashtar who controlled the power of the strange creation forge. No, Skarm was afraid of the old man wrapped in the bearskin cloak who shivered as if he stood upon an open ice-field. The barghest, a creature of evil itself, could sense the foulness that dwelt within the old man, and it was a darkness to rival that of Nathifa herself.

  Skarm started when Nathifa reached down with one of her skeletal hands and scratched the top of his half-goblin, half-lupine head.

  “Patience, Skarm,” the lich said in her sepulchral voice. “It won’t be long now.”

  Makala swooped down to the mountain to confirm what she’d already sensed: Diran and the others had reached Cathmore’s lair before her. They had left their mounts—some manner of giant flightless birds—tethered to stakes at the mountain’s base and were making their way up single file along a winding trail.

  Makala felt a very human wave of irritation. After leaving Diran at the lagoon and searching for half the night, she hadn’t gotten here any faster than he had. She also felt a wave of shame at the thought of what she had attempted to do to him at the lagoon. She hadn’t planned on using her mesmeric abilities to force Diran to forsake Asenka. It had just happened, and now there he was, and more to the point, there she was, walking right behind him. Shame instantly transformed into jealously, and the vampiress found herself dipping lower toward the party. It would be so easy to swoop down and snatch hold of Asenka’s hair with her clawed feet, yanking the bitch off-balance and sending her tumbling down the mountainside. By the time Diran could reach her, she would be dead and broken, beyond healing.

  As Makala drew closer, she saw that Diran and the rest had stopped walking and huddled together against the cold, watching Yvka. The elf woman knelt before the stone wall and ran her hands across its rocky surface. Everyone was distracted, including Asenka. Makala folded her wings and dove toward the woman, imagining the sound of her screams as she careened down the mountainside, but at the last instant, Makala swerved away and angled upward, wings beating furiously. She didn’t look back, but she had the feeling that Diran was watching her, and worse, that he sensed what she’d been about to do.

  As she rose toward the mountaintop, she debated winging eastward and returning to the lagoon where the Zephyr was anchored. She feared she couldn’t maintain control over her more savage instincts—not where her feelings for Diran were concerned, at any rate—and she worried she might prove more of a hindrance than a help to him. While the night still had some hours left to it, she needed to be safely sealed in her resting place before the first rays of dawn touched the sky. She could always find temporary shelter here in the mountains. After all, there were numerous caves where she could spend the day in bat form if she wished, but she was reluctant to abandon the obsidian sarcophagus as it was her only way to safely travel across the sea.

  In the end, her decision came down to one simple fact: she couldn’t leave Diran to face Cathmore alone.

  She’d been circling close to the peak of Mount Luster as she debated what to do, and she now saw what looked like seams carved into the mountain’s stone surface. Curious, she flew down toward them, landed, and clung to the rock in bat form. Upon closer inspection, she realized that she’d found a set of shutters that had been disguised to appear as rock. This was a door or window of some kind, perhaps opening onto to a look-out station of some sort. She’d found her way inside.

  Makala transformed into mist and curled through the seam and into Mount Luster.

  “This is it … the place where we came out.”

  Solus pointed at a portion of the mountain that looked no different than any of the surrounding rock. Wind rushed across the face of Mount Luster, cold and biting. Diran’s facial muscles were numb, but he didn’t care. He did, however, keep his hands inside his fur cloak so they’d remain limber. He had a feeling he’d be throwing a few daggers before long.

  “Are you sure?” Hinto asked. The halfling had ridden up the mountain trail atop the psi-forged’s shoulders like a small child, and now Solus reached up, gently lifted the little pirate, and set him on the ground.

  “I …” Solus’s tone was uncertain at first, but then his voice became firmer. “Yes, I am.”

  Diran exchanged glances with Ghaji, and the priest knew his friend was thinking the same thing: if this was a trap, they were about to spring it.

  “Let me take a look,” Tresslar said. “The entrance—assuming one is here—is obviously hidden and likely warded as well.” The artificer pulled the dragonwand from his belt and held it out before him. He waved it through the air in a slow figure eight once, then reversed direction and did it again. There was no outside sign of magic at work, but when Tresslar lowered his dragonwand, he said, “There’s an entrance here all right, a good-sized one, too. This is probably where they brought supplies and materials in. It’s well warded, as you might imagine. Whoever was responsible for the spellwork did a good job … worthy of the artificers on Dreadhold.”

  Diran’s lips were too cold to form a smile. “High praise coming from you.”

  Tresslar scowled at the priest. “I said good, not great. I’ll get us in.”

  The artificer stepped toward the craggy stone and touched the tip of his dra
gonwand to its surface. The red gems that formed the dragonhead’s eyes burned with crimson light, and the stone surrounding the snout began to glow with pulsing green energy.

  “What’s happening?” Asenka whispered in Diran’s ear.

  Diran tried to ignore how good the warmth of her breath felt against his flesh. “Tresslar is using his dragonwand to absorb the magic of the wards on the entrance, nullifying them.”

  “And he’s done,” Tresslar pronounced. The artificer stepped back, and the crimson glow in the dragonhead’s eyes quickly faded. “All we have to do now is figure out the mechanism to open the door. It’s not magical, that much I know.”

  “Let me have a look,” Yvka said. “After all, you’re not the only one who knows a thing or two about hidden entrances.”

  As an operative of the Shadow Network, she’d had to find her way into any number of places where intruders weren’t wanted, Diran imagined. He’d undergone similar training in the Brotherhood of the Blade. If Yvka wasn’t successful, he’d take a look.

  Diran sensed movement off to his right, and he looked up in time to see a shadowy shape swoop upward, gaining altitude as it soared away. His hands emerged from the folds of his cloak holding daggers made of silver, but he didn’t hurl the blades at the retreating dark shape.

  “Looks like your friend has decided to join us,” Asenka said. She too gazed up into the night sky, watching the bat as it flew toward the summit of Mount Luster.

  “I’m sure she was just letting us know she’s here,” Diran said.

  “Right,” Asenka said, “which is why she nearly hit me … and why you have a pair of daggers in your hands.”

  Diran didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

  “Found it!” Yvka said.

  Diran was grateful for the interruption. He turned with the others to look at Yvka. The elf woman pressed her palm against a part of the wall that looked no different than any other, but there was a soft click and a stone lever slid out of the rock next to Yvka’s hand. She took hold of the lever and pulled downward. There was a second click, the wall shuddered, a grinding sound filled the air, and a large section of stone began to rise before them. They were in!