Thieves of Blood botf-1 Read online

  “How bad is it?” Ghaji asked.

  “Three elemental galleons, with at least twenty hands apiece… say sixty raiders in all. They’ve likely already made landfall.” Diran turned from Ghaji to address the whole tavern. “Arm yourselves or flee! And someone tell the City Watch!”

  Everyone sat in stunned silence for a moment longer, until Ghaji roared, “Move, damn you!”

  They moved. Chairs and tables were overturned as men and women began running in panic for the tavern door. Ghaji stepped between Diran and the onrushing crowd, feet planted wide, axe held at the ready, lower incisors bared. The fleeing taverngoers parted around the orc and the priest like rushing river water around a boulder lodged in midstream.

  The tavern was soon empty, save for Ghaji, Diran, and Makala, who hurried over to join them, crossbow in hand, a bolt nocked and ready.

  “Who are we up against?” Ghaji asked.

  “I’m not certain, but I think it may be the Black Fleet.”

  Ghaji’s expression turned grim. “Sixty raiders, you say?”

  Diran nodded. “Perhaps more.”

  “One thing certainly hasn’t changed about you, Diran,” Makala said. “You never were one to be overly concerned about the odds, but three against sixty?”

  “Four,” Yvka said. She walked over after Makala. Instead of appearing afraid, the elf-woman seemed calm, though alert. Ghaji noticed that she’d taken a trio of red wooden balls from a pouch that hung from her belt, and though he knew the idea was ridiculous, he couldn’t help but think that somehow she intended to use them as weapons.

  Both Diran and Makala turned to look at the elf-woman, as if only just noticing her.

  “This is Yvka,” Ghaji said. “She’s a… juggler.”

  Diran glanced at Ghaji and raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “I’m an acrobat as well,” Yvka said.

  Makala rolled her eyes. “Both are extremely useful skills when you’re fighting for your life.”

  “There’s no need for sarcasm,” Yvka said. “I don’t see anyone else who’s remained behind to help you.”

  It was true. Aside from the four of them, the tavern was now empty.

  “What is this Black Fleet?” Makala asked.

  “Pirates who fly under no flag,” Yvka said, “they ply the Lhazaar Sea, plundering villages and ships. But their main prey is people. Young, old, men, women… it doesn’t matter. They take gold, but it’s said what they really want is blood.”

  Screams erupted from the street, followed by the sound of clashing steel. The raiders had come.

  Without a word, Diran drew a pair of daggers and raced for the door. Ghaji ran after him, axe gripped tightly, Makala and Yvka close on his heels. The four of them burst out into the night and into a scene of complete chaos.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dozens of raiders were attacking men and women in the streets. Steel rang as swords struck sparks off one another, and screams of agony pierced the night as those who had no weapons or possessed little skill in their use fell to the ground.

  The light cast by the moons revealed the raiders to be of similar aspect. They were human, most of them bald and cleanshaven, garbed in black leather armor and black boots. Each carried a long sword in one hand and a wooden cudgel in the other. Both males and females were represented in their ranks, though since the women were also bald, it was difficult to tell the genders apart.

  Directly outside the tavern, a male raider crossed swords with Barkan, the red-bearded man Ghaji had arm-wrestled. Barkan was fast with a blade, but the raider was faster, and he carried two weapons. The raider slammed his cudgel into the side of the other man’s head, and Barken collapsed to the ground, unconscious or dead.

  Diran’s hand blurred as he hurled a dagger at the raider. The blade struck the bald man in the throat and blood sprayed the air. The raider dropped his weapons and reached up with a trembling hand to remove the dagger. Before his fingers could reach the hilt, a horrible gurgling sound escaped his mouth, and he fell to his knees, swayed, then slumped over onto his side next to Barkan’s still form.

  One corner of Diran’s mouth ticked upward in cold satisfaction. “It’s like Emon used to say: ‘You can always count on a well-honed blade.’”

  A squad of raiders-three men and two women-had witnessed their companion’s death. They broke off what they were doing and came running toward Diran and others, clearly intending to avenge their fallen comrade.

  Makala’s crossbow twanged and a bolt slammed into the left eye of one of the female raiders. Such was the force of the blow that the woman spun to the side and fell, dead before she hit the ground.

  Four raiders were left.

  Diran hurled another pair of daggers and two more raiders fell, leaving only two to press the attack. Unfortunately, they were too close for Diran to throw any more daggers or for Makala, who was still in the process of reloading her crossbow, to loose a bolt. That meant it was Ghaji’s turn.

  The half-orc stepped forward and swung his axe at the nearest raider. The man blocked the blow with his cudgel, and flashing a sharp-toothed grin, he thrust his sword at Ghaji’s unprotected midsection. Ghaji twisted to the side to avoid the strike then swept his free hand, now curled into a fist, around in a vicious arc that connected with the jaw of the second surviving raider. The man’s head snapped back, the motion accompanied by the sound of breaking bone. The second raider went limp and collapsed to the ground, neck broken, head lolling at an unnatural angle.

  Ghaji didn’t have time to savor his victory, for he had the final raider to deal with. The man still had Ghaji’s axe blocked with his cudgel, and he’d pulled back his sword in preparation for a second strike. The man’s cudgel terminated in a round ball, through it was slightly hooked toward the end. Ghaji tried to pull his weapon free, but the cudgel had caught hold of the axe head in its crook, and he couldn’t easily dislodge it Ghaji gritted his teeth and yanked his axe backward with all his strength. The raider was pulled off balance and was forced to relinquish his cudgel lest he lose his footing entirely. The raider still had hold of his sword, but without the cudgel, Ghaji was confident he could-

  Before the half-orc warrior could make good use of his advantage, the raider bared his teeth and lunged. Ghaji didn’t have time to think. He slammed his forehead against the raider’s. The impact jarred Ghaji’s teeth to their roots, but it had a far more serious result for the raider. His jaws clacked together and his teeth sliced into his lower lip. Blood splashed over the man’s chin, and he let out a howl of pain.

  Ghaji had earned another momentary advantage, and he wasn’t about to waste this one. He swung his axe toward the raider’s neck, and the man fell dead to the ground in two separate pieces.

  Ghaji looked toward where Barken lay and saw Diran kneeling next to the man. Diran looked at Ghaji and shook his head. The man was beyond the priest’s power to heal. Ghaji gripped his axe so tightly his knuckles ached. Barken hadn’t exactly been his friend, but he vowed to kill as many raiders as he could tonight in the man’s name.

  Another squad of raiders came at them, seven of them this time.

  “My turn,” Yvka said. She stepped in front of the others and began juggling the wooden balls she carried. She started off in a slow circular pattern, but as she increased speed she shifted patterns. Soon the balls began to glow with a softly pulsing red light. The raiders stared at the crimson traces of light the balls made as Yvka manipulated them, almost as if the glowing light and ever-shifting patterns had hypnotized them. Ghaji found himself following the traceries of light the balls made. He had no desire to look away and wasn’t in fact sure that he could.

  “Close your eyes,” Yvka said, then one by one she tossed the glowing red balls toward the assembled raiders in rapid succession.

  As the balls moved away from them and closer to the raiders, Ghaji found the hypnotic pull of the glowing orbs lessening, and he was able to do as Yvka ordered. He closed his eyes just as the first of the balls ex
ploded in a soundless burst of bright red light over the raiders’ heads. So intense was the light-burst that Ghaji saw the crimson flare through his closed eyelids, as well as the two other bursts that followed. He also heard the raiders cry out in pain and surprise, the sounds of their distress all too human despite their appearance.

  Ghaji opened his eyes. Crimson afterimages danced in the air before him, but he could see well enough, which was more than the squad of raiders could say. They’d remained mesmerized and wide-eyed as the balls came toward them, thus they got the full dazzling effect of the triple light-burst. They stood hunched over, rubbing tear-filled eyes as they moaned and cursed. Most of the raiders had dropped their weapons when the light-bursts occurred, and swords and cudgels littered the alley floor around them.

  “Attack!” Makala raised her crossbow to her shoulder and loosed a bolt at the raiders.

  Ghaji didn’t need to be told twice. With a roar, he raised his axe, ran forward, and began fulfilling his silent promise to Barkan’s spirit.

  Pandemonium ruled the streets of Port Verge. People ran screaming as raiders pursued them. Some got away, but many more were clouted on the head by a raider’s cudgel, picked up and carried away, unconscious. Officers of the City Watch fought raiders sword to sword, but though the watchers inflicted their share of wounds, they were no match for the savagery of the shaven-headed warriors. The city’s defenders fell, one after the other. Those offices who valued survival over duty broke off the battle and escaped the deadly kiss of the raiders’ steel, but most didn’t, earning a sword strike in the back for their cowardice. Not all the citizens of Port Verge fled or remained barricaded indoors though. Men and women of varying races took to the streets, weapons in hand, and fought to repel the gray-garbed raiders, but though many of these brave people were experienced fighters, they fared little better than the City Watch. The Black Fleet raiders were simply too numerous, too fierce, and too skilled. Of the Prince’s Diresharks there was as yet no sign. Perhaps they were on the water, attacking the galleons themselves, or, and Ghaji considered this most likely, word had yet to reach either Kolberkon or the commander of the Diresharks.

  Ghaji, Diran, Makala, and Yvka continued fighting the raiders, and the half-orc lost track of how many they’d dispatched. The exact number didn’t matter. As long as even one raider survived, there was still work to do.

  Ghaji saw several raiders gang up on a half-elf sailor armed only with a long knife. While the other raiders attacked the sailor, another hit the sailor on the head with a cudgel hard enough to stun him but not hard enough to kill. The raider then hoisted the unconscious victim onto his shoulder as his or her companions went off in search of fresh game. At first, Ghaji had no idea what was happening, then he heard the sound of iron-rimmed wheels on paving stones as a wooden cart rounded the corner. Two raiders pulled it-large, muscular men as well they needed to be, for the cart was laden with unconscious bodies.

  “Demon-scales,” Ghaji swore. “They’re harvesting people!”

  “So it would seem,” Diran said.

  In unspoken agreement, the half-orc and the priest finished off the raiders they were fighting then sprinted toward the cart. Ghaji didn’t look back to see if Makala or Yvka followed. He knew they would.

  As the raider carrying the half-elf dumped the unconscious man on top of the other victims, Diran and Ghaji arrived. A moment later, the raider had been felled by Ghaji’s axe. The two raiders pulling the cart reached for the swords sheathed at their sides, but a dagger from Diran and a bolt from Makala’s crossbow stopped them. The two men dropped to the ground, as dead as their companion.

  “Makala and Ghaji, stand guard while Yvka and I see to the unfortunates in the cart.”

  Makala frowned. “Diran, I don’t remember you being quite so…”

  “Commanding?” Ghaji offered.

  “Bossy.”

  Diran smiled, and he and Yvka headed for the rear of the cart while Ghaji and Makala watched for raiders. The street was littered with bodies, many of them raiders dispatched by Diran and the others, but otherwise it was empty. The fighting had moved on to other sections of the city, but it hadn’t moved far. Ghaji could still hear ringing steel, defiant shouting, and agonized screaming.

  Diran and Yvka began pulling the raiders’ unconscious victims out of the cart and laying them prone on the street. When only four more people remained in the cart, Diran said, “That’s enough. We can arrange the others so they’ll be comfortable enough where they’re at.” They did so then turned their attention to those on the ground.

  Nine people altogether, Ghaji thought. He wondered just how many men and women the raiders would’ve crammed into the cart before deciding they finally had a full load.

  Yvka began attempting to rouse a young woman barely out of her teenage years by patting her hands and cheeks, but the woman didn’t respond.

  “Allow me,” Diran said. “Once her head injuries are healed, she should awaken without much difficulty.”

  Yvka looked up at the priest with a frown, as if she wasn’t used to being ordered and didn’t particularly like it, but she moved away from the woman. Diran knelt. The priest placed his right hand on the girl’s chest directly over her heart then bowed his head and closed his eyes.

  No matter how many times Ghaji had witnessed Diran perform a healing, he never ceased to be awed by it. Most of the time he thought of Diran as just a man, albeit an extraordinary one, but when Diran invoked the power of the Silver Flame to turn undead or perform a healing, Ghaji was reminded that his friend wasn’t merely some variant of magician. He was a conduit through which the holy force of Good could work its will in the physical word.

  Diran’s hand glowed with a soft silvery light, but before the healing could be completed, a voice cut through the night air.

  “Take your hand off the girl, priest. She’s our property now.”

  Ghaji turned to see a man striding toward them down the street. He was dressed like a common sailor-white shirt, black pants, boots-and carried a cutlass tucked beneath his belt. He was of medium height, stoutly built, bald, with a black beard shot through with gray. He appeared to be in his late fifties, though he moved with the confidence and grace of a much younger man.

  The glow that enveloped Diran’s hand winked out, and the priest stood to confront this newcomer.

  “Who might you be?” Diran demanded.

  The man’s eyes seemed to smolder with crimson fire.

  “Onkar, commander of the Black Fleet, and you four are interfering with our business.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Interfering in others’ business is one of our specialties,” Ghaji said.

  Onkar came toward them, moving with a fluid grace that that seemed more serpentine than human. “So I’ve heard. Reports of you practicing your ‘specialty’ made it back to my ship. Seems you killed one of our people earlier today, a changeling. He was a good scout but something of a discipline problem. Liked his fun a bit too much, if you know what I mean. Still, problem or not, he was one of us, and I’ve come to settle accounts with his killers.”

  So the changeling that had masqueraded as the rakshasa had been one of the Black Fleet. It made sense they’d use a shape-shifter as a scout, Ghaji thought. Too bad for them that they hadn’t been able to find one that could hold his urchin-sting better.

  Diran frowned. “Onkar… why does that name sound so familiar?”

  The commander stopped within ten feet of them, and though he seemed relaxed, Ghaji could sense an underlying tension building in the man, as if he were a predatory animal readying himself to strike.

  “Seeing as how you’re all about to die, it doesn’t really matter where you heard my name, does it?” Onkar reached for his cutlass.

  Makala took a step forward, though she did not attack. Ghaji judged the distance to Onkar’s head, preparing to hurl his axe and split the man’s skull if need be.

  Onkar looked appraisingly at Makala, then he took his hand aw
ay from his cutlass and smiled at her.

  “You step forward to draw my attention in hope of distracting me from what your friends are doing. You’re a spirited one, but I also see a coldness within your soul. You’re one who’s touched evil and been touched in return. Most interesting. I know someone who’d love to meet you.” Onkar turned to Diran, then gestured at the cart which was still half full of unconscious men and women. “Keep this lot if you want. I’ll be taking her.”

  The Black Fleet commander stepped toward Makala, grinning, his eyes blazing like twin crimson fires.

  Makala loosed a bolt from her crossbow, but before the shaft could strike Onkar, his hand lashed out in a blur and plucked the bolt from the air.

  Onkar grinned, baring his teeth and displaying a pair of ivory fangs. “Surprise,” he said. He dropped the bolt. Moving almost faster than Ghaji’s eyes could track, the man, the vampire, struck Makala with a backhanded blow. The impact knocked Makala off her feet, and she fell hard and didn’t move.

  “Makala!” Diran shouted. He started toward the still form of his former lover then stopped himself. He turned to face Onkar, features twisted into a mask of cold hatred.

  While Onkar’s attention was on Diran, Ghaji hurled his axe toward the raider commander’s unprotected head. The weapon tumbled end over end as it flew at the grinning man. Though Onkar didn’t take his gaze off Diran, his hand reached out and snatched the axe out of the air as easily as if it were hovering motionless before him. Without turning to look at Ghaji, Onkar returned the axe with a simple flick of his wrist. The weapon came spinning back toward Ghaji, and the half-orc barely managed to jump out of the way before the axe struck. The weapon continued flying past him and eventually came to a clanging, skittering stop in the street a dozen yards away.

  Onkar didn’t appear to move, but one moment he was just standing there and the next he had Makala tossed over his shoulder. “Well, it’s been lovely, but I have to take my leave. The Black Fleet’s style is hit and run, and now that we’ve finished hitting, it’s time to start running.”