Sea of Death: Blade of the Flame - Book 3 Page 21

  Since making landfall, they’d been traveling without rest to take advantage of the daylight left to them, but now that night had fallen, Diran thought it high time they took a break. But just as he was about to broach the subject, light flashed in the darkness behind him, and the priest whirled about, prepared to hurl his daggers.

  Diran saw Tresslar’s grinning face lit by a yellow glow emanating from his revealer.

  “I’ve detected the Amahau!” Tresslar said, his voice rising in excitement. “That means we’re close!”

  Diran smiled, all thought of rest forgotten. “How close?”

  “No more than a few miles.”

  “Let’s keep moving,” Diran said. “We—”

  Diran’s words were cut off as the darkness surrounding them came alive.

  Nathifa, Haaken, and Skarm stood at the base of a rocky hill. Night had fallen, cloaking the land in shadow.

  “We’ve arrived.” The lich pointed a dead-white finger at a cave opening halfway up the sloping hillside.

  “Doesn’t look like much,” Haaken said, sounding almost disappointed. “I have to say that so far Trebaz Sinara has failed to live up to its reputation.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Skarm said. “Our journey here was uneventful only because our mistress used her magic to shield us from the island’s dangers.”

  Haaken shrugged.

  Normally, Nathifa would’ve punished the sea raider for his insolence, but she’d envisioned this moment for many long decades, and now that she finally stood here, she was too excited to care about Haaken and his doubts. She glanced up at the sky and judged that it had been night long enough.

  “You can come out now,” the lich said.

  A feminine hand emerged from the rippling black substance that served as Nathifa’s robe, and Makala stepped forth from the undead sorceress, detaching herself from the living darkness with some effort.

  Once she was free, the vampire shuddered as if caught in the icy winds of an arctic blast. “That was … less than pleasant.”

  “Perhaps, but traveling within me protected you from the rays of the sun. Enough talk: we have work to do, so let’s be about it.”

  Makala smiled. “Well, if you’re in a hurry …” The vampire’s form blurred, shrank, and reformed into the shape of a black bat. Wings flapping furiously, Makala circled around Nathifa’s head once before breaking off and soaring up to the cave entrance.

  “No!” After all these years, the sorceress wasn’t about to permit a lowly servant to enter the cave ahead of her. She pointed at Makala and an ebon bolt of necromantic energy lanced forth from her fingertip, streaked through the air, and struck the vampire precisely on the spot where her bat wings emerged from her shoulder blades. Makala veered wildly for a moment, then dipped toward the hillside and slammed into its rocky surface with a satisfyingly meaty thud. She lay there, only halfway to the cave, stunned and unmoving as her body slowly returned to human form.

  “Stupid bitch,” Nathifa muttered, and headed up the hill’s slope, gliding with eerie liquidity. Haaken and Skarm followed, both having witnessed Makala being chastened by their mistress, and wisely not commenting on it.

  The hillside’s slope was gradual enough that their ascent proved no difficulty, especially as the three of them possessed unnatural strength and agility to draw upon. Makala had staggered to her feet by the time Nathifa reached her, and the vampire glared at the lich, murderous hate blazing in her crimson-flame eyes. For an instant, Nathifa felt certain Makala was finally going to attack her, but the vampire instead stepped back, bowed, and made a sweeping gesture toward the cave.

  “After you,” she said, her tone giving an entirely different meaning to the words.

  Nathifa smiled. “As it should be,” she said, and glided past Makala toward the cave entrance. It had taken a great effort for Makala to restrain herself, and Nathifa knew the next time the woman became angry she wouldn’t hold back. The lich was looking forward to it. If Vol’s intention in sending the vampire to serve Nathifa was to force the sorceress to prove her ultimate worth, then she welcomed the chance to do so and would not fail. If, on the other hand, Vol wished for Makala to supplant Nathifa for some reason, then she would just have to accept it—but only after doing everything in her fell power to destroy the whore first.

  A ledge jutted out from the cave entrance, and they reached it without difficulty. Nathifa paused for a moment, reaching out with her mind, probing the tunnel within to check for any threats. She sensed none, but nevertheless she turned to Skarm and said, “You shall lead the way in your natural form.”

  Skarm’s orange-skinned goblin face paled. “I, Mistress?”

  Nathifa frowned. It was unlike the barghest to question her commands. It seemed Makala and Haaken’s attitudes had begun to rub off on Skarm. “Your barghest senses are sharp and will alert us to any danger.” The lich gave her servant a cold smile. “And, should something happen to you, it will be no great loss.”

  Skarm nodded, looking miserable, shifted into his lupine-goblinoid form, and padded into the cave. The lich followed, not bothering to give Makala or Haaken any orders. They knew they were expected to come along as well.

  They proceeded through the darkness, none of them needing any light to see. The tunnel was wide and the ceiling high and they were able to make their way without difficulty. Naturally enough, Nathifa thought, as this had once been the lair of a green dragon. The tunnel would need to be large enough to allow the beast to enter and exit. The tunnel angled downward and curved to the right, and Nathifa—who’d inhabited her own cavern for a hundred years—sensed they were descending beneath ground level now. Skarm’s ears were pricked up the whole way, and he moved with a tentativeness that made Nathifa want to kick him in the rump to hurry him along, but she reminded herself to be patient. Now that she was this close to her goal, she didn’t want to make a mistake in her haste to reach the dragon’s resting place.

  A soft green glow became visible as they approached a bend in the tunnel. They rounded the bend and found themselves standing at the entrance to a large cavern. The source of the green light became instantly apparent: a luminescent substance—moss or mold, Nathifa guessed—covered the cavern’s stalactites and stalagmites. The illumination was dim, but it provided more than enough light for the monstrous quartet’s night vision, and the cavern seemed nearly as bright as day to them. So much so, that Makala narrowed her eyes to a squint and let out a soft hiss of displeasure. Nathifa ignored the vampire, her attention focused entirely on the skeleton lying in the middle of the cavern’s floor: a dragon’s skeleton.

  “Is that what we’ve come all this way for?” Haaken asked. “To gaze upon a collection of old bones?”

  “Hardly,” Nathifa said. “What you see before you are the remains of the green dragon Paganus. Those bones rest in the same spot where the great beast lay for close to three thousand years, guarding the Amahau.” The dragonwand lay nestled within Nathifa’s interior, swaddled in the same darkness in which the lich had carried Makala during the daylight hours. She thought she felt the Amahau grow warmer inside her as she spoke its name, as if the mystic object was stirring in excitement, joyful to return home after forty years away.

  “Until Erdis Cai and Tresslar came along and stole it,” Makala said.

  “Indeed,” Nathifa said. But that was all part of Vol’s grand design, she thought. Espial had whispered the story to her many times over the years, and the lich knew it so well, it was almost as if she’d lived it herself.

  The Amahau originally belonged to Vol, but a device of such mystic power as the Gatherer was coveted by many. One of those was Paganus. He wanted the Amahau for himself, and he believed he was strong enough to take it. Paganus came up with a cunning plan to steal the Gatherer and, while the dragon succeeded in obtaining the artifact, he did not escape unscathed. Vol discovered Paganus and the two fought a great battle. In the end Paganus—though mortally wounded—managed to flee the palace of ice and bone
. He did not possess the strength to heal himself, but he cast a spell so that the Amahau would feed on his innate magical energy and, in return, preserve his body as it was, wounds and all, so that it was as if time did not pass for the dragon. He would not heal, but neither would his wounds cause his death. In excruciating agony, and barely able to fly, Paganus returned to his lair here on Trebaz Sinara. He remained in this cavern for two millennia, hiding from Vol while he attempted to find a way to use the Amahau to heal his injuries.

  Vol continued to search for the Gatherer throughout the centuries, and eventually after much effort, she located Paganus’s lair. She then set in motion a series of events designed to reclaim what was rightfully hers … beginning with Erdis Cai obtaining a map to Trebaz Sinara. Unable to resist adventure of any sort, Cai came to this island and followed the map’s route to this cavern. Here he took the Amahau from Paganus and, once the dragon was separated from the Gatherer’s protective magic, time began to affect his wounds once more, and the dragon died from injuries sustained two millennia earlier. It was Vol’s intention that Erdis Cai travel to her palace in the Fingerbone Mountains and deliver the Amahau unto her and, after some time and various subtle manipulations on Vol’s part, the explorer and his crew at last began to sail northward. But something unforeseen occurred. Tresslar, the ship’s young artificer, had his doubts about the Sea Star’s latest journey, and the coward deserted his captain, stole a longboat, and fled southward.

  When Cai and his crew arrived at Vol’s palace without the Amahau, Vol—never one to waste a tool if it might one day prove useful—transformed Cai and his first mate Onkar into vampires, and the rest of the crew into ghouls. She gifted the newly reborn vampires with obsidian sarcophagi so that they could withstand the effects of sea travel, and then charged them with finding Tresslar and the Amahau. While that search went on, Vol also tasked Cai with resurrecting an undead army of goblinoid warriors in Grimwall, the ancient subterranean city on Orgalos that Cai used as his base of operations.

  Nathifa had been a servant of Vol in mortal life. The woman pledged her soul to Vol in exchange for knowledge of dark magic, and she became even more powerful when she used that knowledge to transform herself into a lich. Thanks to Vol, she was able to gain revenge on her hated brother Kolbyr by cursing his line with the Fury, and as payment, Vol commanded Nathifa to take up residence in a cave outside Perhata and wait until such time as the Dark Queen might have a need for the lich.

  Over the decades, Nathifa become aware that despite the Fury, the city bearing her brother’s name was prospering, and she decided that her vengeance would never truly be complete until everything he had built—the city included—was destroyed. When Vol became aware of Nathifa’s desire, she told the lich that she had decided on a use for the Amahau—a purpose that Nathifa would help to fulfill, thereby gaining her ultimate vengeance in the process. The lich of course eagerly agreed, and settled down to wait until Vol’s machinations brought the Amahau into her possession. And now, after all this time and effort, Nathifa stood here at last.

  “But now that you have the dragonwand, why return here?” Haaken asked.

  The lich’s dry dead lips stretched into a hungry smile. “Because the Amahau wasn’t the only magical artifact in Paganus’s possession, merely the only one he kept on his person.”

  “So the dragon had a hoard,” Makala said. “How original.” Her gaze swept the cavern. “I don’t see any sign of it in here, though.”

  “That’s because Paganus wasn’t foolish enough to keep his treasures out in plain sight,” Nathifa said.

  “So where are they?” Skarm asked.

  “I have no idea,” Nathifa admitted. “But I know someone who does. Let’s go wake him and ask.”

  Without waiting for the others, the undead sorceress glided across the cavern floor toward Paganus’s skeleton.

  Ghaji’s elemental axe burst into flame, illuminating their attackers just in time for Diran to duck beneath a set of long, wickedly curved black claws. The creature was a long-limbed, ebon-skinned, rubber-fleshed thing the size of a halfling with large almond-shaped eyes, tiny mouth, and three scimitar-like claws on each hand. As the monster’s arm—like its claws—passed overhead, Diran slashed out with both his steel and silver daggers. The dark flesh parted beneath the blades’ edges, but it did not sizzle or smoke at the silver’s touch. As Diran spun and straightened to meet the next attack, he returned the silver dagger to its sheath within the inner lining of his cloak and drew another steel blade. He only had so many silver daggers, and since the holy metal had no additional effect on this creature, Diran preferred not to waste them.

  More shadow creatures attacked from all directions, running at the companions from the ground and leaping at them from tree branches. The creatures came at them in silence, making no noise at all as they advanced, and if Diran hadn’t wounded one himself, he might’ve thought they weren’t solid beings at all, but instead ethereal forest shadows that had somehow come to deadly life.

  Ghaji’s axe slammed into the shoulder of one of the creatures and it released a high-pitched shriek like the piercing cry of a jungle bird as the elemental weapon carved it in two. So the shadowclaws could make noise when they wished!

  The beast Diran had wounded whirled about for another try, but a backhanded slash at the creature’s throat by the priest thwarted the attempt before it had even begun. Black blood gushed from the thing’s neck, and it staggered backward, collapsed to the forest floor, and died. Diran didn’t pause to take a closer look at the creature, which he’d already begun to think of as a shadowclaw. Though he was unfamiliar with the species, he knew everything that was important: the beasts were trying to kill them and the things died at the kiss of cold steel. Nothing else mattered right now.

  It was difficult to estimate how many shadowclaws were attacking. Ghaji’s fire axe only provided so much light, and the creatures’ black skins blended in perfectly with the darkness that suffused the dark forest. A dozen shadowclaws? Two dozen? More? It was impossible to say.

  Leontis was rapidly nocking and loosing arrows, and with every twang of his bowstring, another shadowclaw fell.

  “We need more light!” Leontis shouted.

  “Happy to oblige!” Yvka called back. She’d taken three small wooden juggling balls from her pouch, and she tossed them into the air. The three balls froze at the apex of their flight and began emitting a dazzling shower of white sparks.

  For a radius of fifty feet, the forest became bright as day. The shadowclaws caught in the glare of the sudden light hissed, squeezed shut their overlarge almond eyes, and tried to block out the painful illumination by raising their huge talons. The light didn’t keep the shadowclaws from attacking, but it made them hesitant, and that was something.

  “Many thanks!” Leontis said, his voice little more than a throaty growl. He continued loosing arrows, but now each shaft plunged into a shadowclaw’s eye, penetrating straight into the brain and slaying the creature. With alarm, Diran watched as his friend began to transform. Leontis’s eyes glowed a feral yellow, his teeth became sharper and more pronounced, and his hands and face were now almost entirely covered with fur. Nose and mouth merged and stretched into a lupine snout, and his ears became pointed and shifted upward toward the top of his head. His fingernails lengthened into claws, and the priest could no longer get an effective grip on his bowstring. With a snarl, Leontis threw the weapon to the ground, shrugged off his quiver and backpack, and leaped at the nearest shadowclaw, his own claws outstretched and eager to rend flesh.

  Diran took a quick glance around to see if anyone else had witnessed Leontis’s change of shape, but the other companions had been too busy battling the shadowclaws to notice. Good, Diran thought. The last thing the others needed as they fought for their lives was to be distracted by the realization that they had a werewolf in their midst.

  Tresslar knelt on the ground near Solus. The psiforged stood immobile, the psionic crystals that covered his bo
dy pulsing with multicolored light. Solus grabbed hold of the shadowclaws in his vicinity with his telekinetic powers and flung them into the air to slam into tree trunks or, just as often, each other. It was as if the creatures were being tossed about by a gale that could neither be seen nor felt.

  Tresslar’s revealer lay on the ground, and the artificer was furiously working on it with a pair of tools that looked something like lockpicks formed from shimmering light. Diran had no idea what Tresslar was doing, but he had no doubt it was important, so the priest sprinted over to the artificer’s side to stand guard over him. Tresslar didn’t look up from his work as Diran began slicing at shadowclaws as they attacked, but he said, “Thanks, Diran. If you can just buy me a few more moments …”

  “That may be about all I can do,” Diran muttered.

  A pair of shadowclaws dropped toward them from the trees, and the priest hurled both of his daggers at the same time, aiming for an eye of each creature. The blades struck, the shadowclaw’s eyes popped like rotten fruit, and the monsters fell to the ground, dead.

  Leontis had been on to something: the creatures’ large eyes made excellent targets.

  As Diran grabbed a fresh pair of steel daggers from within his cloak—poison-coated blades this time, for the sheer number of shadowclaws meant they needed every advantage they could get—the priest spared a second to look toward the last place he’d seen Leontis. His fellow priest, now more wolf than man, stood in the midst of a group of shadowclaws, slashing at them with his own claws, tearing at ebon flesh with his teeth, ignoring the deep wounds the creatures’ large talons made as they struck again and again, for their claws were not made of silver and therefore did him no lasting damage. His injuries healed almost as swiftly as the shadowclaws could make them. Diran had fought numerous beings that could change their shape, but he’d never seen a true lycanthrope in action before, and the sight was a most impressive one indeed. The speed and savagery were beyond anything he had ever witnessed before, and add to that the swiftness with which lycanthropes healed, and Diran understood why the Purified had once fought so hard to extinguish their kind from the face of Eberron, and why they continued to guard against a lycanthropic resurgence to this day.