by Tim Waggoner
“And when we reach the island, we should be able to find the materials needed to repair the Zephyr,” Haaken said. “We can’t make her as good as new without a supply of soarwood, but we can get her strong enough to withstand the force of the air elemental again.”
Normally, her servants’ logic would’ve swayed Nathifa. After all, what were a few more days after all the time she’d already waited to see her vengeance finally done? But there was something she hadn’t shared with Makala and Haaken yet—something she had learned earlier when she’d been alone in the cabin listening to the whispers of Espial.
“We cannot afford any delay,” the lich said. “The priest and his companions have learned of our destination, and they have acquired transport upon an elemental galleon. Even now they speed toward us, coming closer with each passing second.”
Makala laughed. “I’m not surprised. Diran may have been foolish enough to ally himself with the so-called Purified, but he’s as much as a hunter as any of us. He’ll never stop, not so long as breath remains in his body.”
Nathifa gave the vampire an appraising look. “You sound as if you still love him.”
Makala opened her mouth and displayed her fangs. “I’d love to sink my teeth into his neck, if that’s what you mean.”
Nathifa wondered if the evil that infested Makala’s soul didn’t have quite the firm foothold that she’d originally thought. If so, it was a useful thing to know. Nathifa might be able to use that against Makala should the need arise.
When the need arose, the lich amended.
“Unless you know a spell that can repair a damaged sloop, I’m afraid we’re not going anywhere fast anytime soon,” Haaken said.
Nathifa looked up at the sky, noted the four full moons, and remembered at last what they signified.
“I just may,” she said.
Nathifa stood alone at the Zephyr’s slanted prow, Espial tucked beneath one arm. Her servants had locked themselves in the cabin as she had ordered. Not only didn’t she wish them to interfere in what was to take place, they would be safer there. She hoped.
She rubbed chalk-white fingers across the smooth surface of the skull’s glossy obsidian pate, her gaze fixed on the eastern horizon. It was well past midnight, but dawn was still some hours away. Nathifa was a creature of darkness, but right now she would’ve preferred to see at least a hint of coming sunlight in the distance.
It’s not too late to change your mind, she told herself. But of course it was. She’d sent the summons. The ship would come, and no power on Eberron could stop it now.
Was she really willing to make the terrible bargain she had in mind? Perhaps it would be better to remove the remaining runner and sail without the aid of the Zephyr’s bound air elemental. What did it matter that the priest and his companions would catch up to them? Nathifa and her servants were powerful. Diran Bastiaan and the others wouldn’t stand a chance against them. There was no need to make the deal she was contemplating.
But of course there was. She’d only faced Bastiaan once, in her lair located in the hills beyond Perhata, but that had been enough for her to take the man’s measure. Power ran strong in him—far stronger than anyone Nathifa had ever encountered before. She sensed darkness in the man’s soul as well, and she wondered if his knowledge of darkness, instead of weakening the good in him, actually strengthened it. It was a disturbing thought, for if a man like Diran Bastiaan could learn to let go of his past, what did that mean for a creature like her? Could she, like Bastiaan, step off her path and decide to walk another, even after all this time?
She shook her head and cursed herself for a fool. Her brother Kolbyr had wronged her grievously, had wronged her child by not giving him the chance to be Kolbyr’s heir. And even though Kolbyr had long ago gone to his grave, she couldn’t bear to allow his name to live on through his descendants … descendents who ruled a city bearing her brother’s very name! She’d sacrificed so much in the name of vengeance: long years spent studying fell sorcery, pledging herself to the service of the Lich Queen, surrendering her mortal life so that she might become a lich and live long enough to see her vengeance fulfilled at last. If she turned aside from her path now, all her work, all her sacrifices would be wasted.
And her thrice-hated brother would win in the end. That, more than anything else, she simply could not bear. She would walk her chosen path to the bloody end, regardless of the cost. No price was too high to finally see her vengeance done.
And then, as if in response to her thoughts, a wall of greenish mist rolled in from the east, heralding the arrival of the Ship of Bones.
The dread vessel slid forth from the mist in complete silence—no splashing of water against its hull, no flapping of sails or creaking of rigging. In fact, the ship seemed to swallow all sound, for Nathifa could no longer hear the wind or the waves, or even the dry rasp of her hand as she rubbed Espial for whatever cold comfort the mystic object could give. The green mist reached the Zephyr and rolled across the sloop’s deck, bringing with it a cold more intense than that of even the most frigid winter nights on the Lhazaar, for this was a cold that affected not the body, but the spirit.
Like all born and raised in the Principalities, Nathifa grew up hearing the legend of Prince Moren and his Ship of Bones. An evil man cursed for his misdeeds in life, Moren was doomed to sail the Lhazaar Sea with a crew of undead pirates in search of living sailors upon which to feed. As the tales would have it, on nights when two or more moons were full, the Ship of Bones silently sailed the dark waters of the night searching for any vessels unfortunate enough to cross its path. Although in this instance, Moren found the Zephyr because Nathifa had summoned him.
Nathifa had always wondered what the Ship of Bones would look like. Was it just a name to inspire fear or was the vessel truly constructed from bone instead of iron and wood? She now knew it was the latter.
The hull was made from the curving rib bones of some enormous creature—a dragon, perhaps, though one larger than any Nathifa had ever heard of. The ship’s three masts were formed from massive leg bones that appeared human, save for their great size. Giant bones, Nathifa guessed, but from giants larger than any she’d ever dreamed could exist. The sails were fashioned from sewn-together patches of leathery skin, torn from the bodies of Moren’s victims, she wagered, most likely while they were still alive and screaming in agony. At least, that’s how she would’ve done it. The bones were lashed together with strips of flesh, lengths of muscle, strands of sinew, and coils of intestines. It was, in its own dark way, magnificent.
Nathifa could see none of the crew as the Ship of Bones drew alongside the Zephyr, but she knew they were there. She could sense them watching her with curiosity, wondering who this madwoman was who was suicidal enough to summon the Prince of Bones and his deathly crew.
A gangplank made from interlocking arm and hand bones was lowered over the side, and a pair of skeletal hands on the end grabbed hold of the Zephyr’s railing. Nathifa waited to see if any of Moren’s crew would disembark, but when none did, she knew they were waiting for her to board their ship. After all, hadn’t she summoned them?
Rubbing the top of Espial’s head once more for luck, Nathifa stepped up onto the skeletal ramp and began walking upward.
“How long has she been over there?” Haaken asked.
Makala peered through the porthole of the Zephyr’s cabin. She could see no sign of activity aboard the Ship of Bones. It was as if the vessel was deserted, a thing possessed of its own unearthly life that plied the waters of the Lhazaar without need of a crew. But she knew Nathifa was aboard, had seen the lich embark.
“The better part of an hour, I’d say. Whatever they’re talking about, they’re evidently in no hurry.”
“Time doesn’t mean the same thing to the dead as it does to the living,” Skarm said. Then, realizing who he was talking to, he added, “No offense.”
Makala considered backhanding the barghest, but she restrained herself. Depending on how Nat
hifa’s meeting with Prince Moren turned out, they might well end up having to fight for their lives. If so, she wanted Skarm uninjured and ready for battle.
Haaken sat cross-legged on the sleeping pallet, face pale, eyes haunted. “Do you think they’re … going to eat us?”
Makala turned to the lycanthropic sea raider and sneered. “Depends on whether or not they like the taste of fish.”
Any reply Haaken might have made was cut off by a knock on the cabin hatch. Both Haaken and Skarm jumped, but Makala just looked at the hatch for a moment with a narrow-eyed gaze before starting toward it.
Haaken leaped off the pallet, rushed to Makala, and grabbed hold of her arm to stop her. “Are you mad? If you let them in they’ll devour us!”
Makala bared her fangs, hissed, and slashed Haaken’s face with claw-like fingernails. Haaken released her arm and staggered backward, blood pouring from wounds that were already beginning to heal. Makala inhaled, savoring the scent of fresh blood, and it took every bit of self-control she possessed not to fall upon the man, tear out his throat, and gorge herself on his life’s fluid.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she snarled. “If Prince Moren and his crew had come for us, do you really think they would bother to knock?”
Makala continued to the hatch and opened it. She stepped back as Nathifa glided into the cabin. The lich’s face—normally bleached of all color—looked even whiter than usual, and the crimson fire that burned in her eyes had dimmed to the point where it seemed as if it might go out altogether.
“It’s done. We have what we need to repair the ship. Begin working. I … need to rest for a bit.”
Without another word, the lich crossed over to the sleeping pallet and lay down with her back to her three servants.
Makala looked at Skarm and Haaken with a raised eyebrow before walking out of the cabin and onto the deck of the Zephyr. The Ship of Bones was gone, and there was no sign of her in any direction, even though the ghostly craft couldn’t have sailed very far away in the time since Nathifa had disembarked. It was as if the ship had simply vanished. A pile of lumber lay on the deck, along with a new runner … no, it was the Zephyr’s runner, recovered and returned to them. The planking was mismatched—the boards different types of wood, along with varying widths, and lengths—and the lumber was wet, covered with moss and barnacles.
“They salvaged the wood from shipwrecks,” Haaken said softly.
Makala hadn’t noticed the man’s approach. Skarm stood next to him, and all three of them stared at the lumber left by Prince Moren.
“What price do you think Nathifa had to pay to get that wood?” Skarm asked.
“I don’t know,” Makala said. “But I can tell you one thing: when she went aboard the Ship of Bones she had Espial with her, but she returned empty-handed.” She glanced up at the night sky to gauge the time, though she had no real need to do so since her vampiric instincts told her how long it would be until sunrise. “We still have a few hours of darkness left to us. Let’s get to work.”
As Haaken and Skarm started toward the lumber, Makala glanced back at the Zephyr’s cabin.
What price indeed? she thought, and wondered how she might be able to turn this most recent development to her advantage. Then she joined the others to begin the repairs to the Zephyr.
Thokk was as good as his word, and the Turnabout reached the northeastern shore of Trebaz Sinara a bit less than two days after they’d set out. The sun had edged up over the horizon, and the sky was a bright, clear blue with barely a cloud in sight. Despite the beauty of the dawning day, the island was as forbidding as legend painted it, surrounded by treacherous reefs and enclosed by high, sheer cliff walls. Off in the distance, a flock of winged creatures circled lazily above the island. Birds, perhaps, or something else. They were too far away to tell for certain.
Captain Onu stood at the ship’s rail, gazing out upon the island, eyes shining as if its cliffs were made of gold instead of stone.
“Trebaz Sinara,” he breathed. “How I’ve longed to look upon its fabled shores!”
Thokk stood at the railing next to his captain. The dwarf had summoned Diran, Ghaji, and the others to the deck when Trebaz Sinara had first come into view, and the companions stood at the railing alongside the Turnabout’s master.
“If we don’t drop anchor soon, we may well run aground on those shores,” Thokk said.
“Hmm? Oh, yes, of course. Give the order if you would, Master Thokk.”
The first mate signaled to a crewman and the ship’s anchor was released.
“Those reefs are like a maze,” Ghaji said. He turned to Tresslar. “Are you sure you remember the route through? It has been forty years since you were here last.”
The artificer glared at the half-orc. “Assuming that the visions the demon revealed to Diran are true—and I haven’t the faintest idea why the lich would want to go to the dragon’s cave where I discovered the Amahau—I’ll be able to get us there. My memory’s as sharp as it ever was. I may be hazy on one or two minor details, I’ll admit, but once we get started I’m sure it’ll all come back to me.”
Hinto groaned. “We’ll be scuttled before we’re halfway through!”
Tresslar started to protest, but Diran laid a gentle hand on the artificer’s shoulder to silence him. “I’ve been giving the matter some thought, and we shouldn’t have to rely solely on Tresslar’s recall—as strong as it is, I’m sure. Assuming Nathifa and the others made it here before us—”
“Which they almost certainly did,” Asenka put in.
“Then once we’re on the island, Tresslar should be able to locate the dragonwand using another of his mystical devices. Isn’t that right?”
The artificer nodded. “If the lich brought the Amahau onto the island with her.”
“Would you leave such a valuable artifact behind on your ship?” Yvka asked.
“Good point,” Tresslar said. “In that case, as long as we’re within several miles of the Amahau, I’ll be able to detect it.” He reached around into his backpack and withdrew one of his homemade magical devices: a metal ring attached to a wooden handle. “I’ve modified my revealer to sense the unique energy signature of the Amahau.” He gripped the tool by the handle and held it out in front of him. Several seconds passed, but nothing happened. Obviously disappointed, but trying to hide it, Tresslar returned the device to his backpack. “As I said, the range is somewhat limited. Nathifa and the others might be too far inland, and even if they aren’t, those cliffs are likely interfering with any signals I might pick up. We’ll need to get closer.”
“But if we can’t maneuver through those reefs …” Hinto said.
“That’s where Solus comes in,” Diran said, turning to the psiforged. “Can you use your psionic abilities to strengthen Tresslar’s memory of the proper route through the reefs?”
“Yes,” Solus said. “But I can do better than merely strengthen Tresslar’s recollection. Once I locate the memory, I can reproduce it and transfer it into each of your minds. That way, we shall all know the route in case something should happen.” No one said anything for a moment, and the psiforged added, “Trebaz Sinara is reputed to be a dangerous place, is it not? I wish no harm to Tresslar, but we should prepare for all possibilities.”
Yvka nodded appreciatively. “Quite sensible.”
“An unnecessary precaution,” Tresslar said, “as I am quite capable of taking care of myself, but I see no harm in it. What do I need to do?”
“Just come off to the side with me for a few moments,” Solus said. “There will be little discomfort, and the procedure won’t take long. After we’re done, if each of you would come over to me one by one, I’ll implant the route into your minds.”
Tresslar and Solus walked off several yards, and the psiforged told the artificer to close his eyes. The construct then gently placed his three-fingered stone hands on the sides of Tresslar’s head, and his artificial eyes glowed bright green as the memory transference began.
> “I’ll have a longboat prepared for you,” Thokk said, “along with enough food and water for several days. If you’re on the island longer than that …” The dwarf trailed off, leaving the rest of the thought unspoken, though it was clear enough. If Diran and the others remained on Trebaz Sinara that long, they were probably dead.
Onu frowned. “You speak as if our friends are going to be making landfall on their own, but surely we’re going with them!”
Thokk stared at the Turnabout’s captain with shock, as if the man had suddenly sprouted a second head.
Onu made a grand gesture in the island’s direction. “It’s Trebaz Sinara, Thokk! According to legend, it holds the wealth of two thousand years of pirate raids! Gold! Dragonshards! Priceless relics! Treasures beyond imagining and number! You can’t expect me to stay onboard, lean on the rail, and be content to just look at the island!”
Thokk’s face reddened with frustration. “It’s too dangerous, Captain! I don’t care how much treasure may be waiting for us there, it won’t do us any good if we’re dead!”
For the first time since Diran and the others had met Onu, the captain’s good humor deserted him and his expression clouded over with anger. “Bartalan Thokk—ever the hard-headed businessman without even the most minimal sense of adventure. Well, I am the captain of this ship, and I am going to accompany these good worthies on their journey … unless, of course, you have anything more to say about the matter, First Mate Thokk?”
The dwarf’s jaw muscles tightened, and his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists.
“No … Captain!” With that, Thokk spun around and stalked off to see to the preparation of the longboat.
Onu turned to Diran and the others and gave them an apologetic smile. “Forgive me. Thokk is a good man, and I couldn’t do without him, but sometimes he oversteps his bounds and needs his leash yanked. You understand.” The captain then turned back to the railing and gazed across the water at the fabled island of Trebaz Sinara.