Forge of the Mindslayers: Blade of the Flame Book 2 (16 page)

Ghaji grinned and tightened his grip on his axe. “Where do we start?”

“I think you may have to put your plans on hold for a time—say, forever.”

Diran still had hold of one of the daggers he’d drawn when Hinto had alerted them to the barghest’s presence. Now he didn’t hesitate; he threw the dagger in the direction the voice—Haaken’s voice—came from, but before Diran could tell whether his blade had found its target, a large shape came at them out of the darkness, and he felt the heavy mesh of a fishing net descend upon them. The net was heavy enough on its own, but it was weighted down with lead balls at the edges to help it sink into the sea more effectively. It forced Diran and Ghaji to their knees. Ghaji’s axe flared bright, and Diran knew his friend intended to burn their way free of the net. Not one to wait on someone else to save him, Diran pulled a dagger from one of the hidden sheathes sewn into the inner lining of his cloak and began sawing away at the net’s mesh. They only needed a few seconds, and then they would—

Haaken stepped forward until Diran could make out the dim outline of his form. “You don’t really think we’d give you a chance to escape, do you?”

His hand shot forth, and he released a fine amber powder into the air. The powder diffused into a small yellow cloud that surrounded Diran and Ghaji, and though the two companions knew enough to hold their breath, Haaken and another of the Coldhearts stepped forward—they had scraps of cloth tied over their noses and mouths, Diran saw—and kicked them in the ribs. Breath exploded from their lungs, and then in reflex, they breathed in. Whatever the drug was, it was powerful, and it took effect immediately. Diran saw Ghaji’s axe-flame extinguish as the half-orc lost consciousness.

Diran felt his own body begin to go numb, and as darkness rushed in to take him, he heard Haaken say, “Well, that was easier than I thought it would be.”

Asenka was on the way back to the King Prawn with a detachment of three Sea Scorpions when they nearly collided with Haaken and his people in the fog. The Coldhearts were carrying something wrapped in a fishing net—something that looked suspiciously like two bodies, and she had a damn good idea who those bodies belonged to.

Asenka drew her sword, and her people did the same. “If you want to leave Perhata alive, Haaken, you’ll put them down now.”

Haaken grinned. “We outnumber you two to one, Asenka.” Only four of Haaken’s people carried the net-wrapped bodies. The other four, Haaken included, had their swords in hand, and they now touched the points of their blades to their captives. “Unless you want us to gut these two here and now, I suggest you make way and allow us safe passage.”

Asenka thought swiftly. If she let the Coldhearts go, they’d simply kill Diran and Ghaji later, but if she attempted to stop
them here, Diran and Ghaji would be skewered, and she doubted she’d be able to get them to a healer before they perished. As much as it galled her, she didn’t see how she had any choice.

“Very well, Haaken. You have safe passage.” She stepped aside and motioned for her people to do the same. She lowered her sword, though she didn’t sheathe it. She wasn’t stupid enough to give Haaken the opportunity to kill her in the bargain.

“A wise decision, Asenka,” the Coldheart leader said. “I always thought there was a reasonable person underneath that cold bitch exterior.” He laughed, and his people joined in. “One more thing: I was thinking of just slicing your friends’ throats and dumping them over the side for the sharks, but I’ve decided these two deserve something a bit more special, so we’re going to drop them off on Demothi Island.”

Asenka felt a cold stab of fear pierce her gut. “You can’t be serious!”

Haaken laughed even harder. He motioned for his people to move out, and the Coldhearts continued on toward the docks, bearing their captives off to their horrible fate.

Demothi Island …

Asenka wondered if it wouldn’t have been kinder to let Haaken kill Diran and Ghaji outright. She turned to her people. “Head for the barracks and alert the others that the Coldhearts are making for the dock. Stop them if you can. I’m going to the King Prawn to alert Diran’s companions.”

From what she’d learned about his friends during her conversation with Diran, she thought they might have just as good a chance of saving Diran and Ghaji as the Sea Scorpions would—maybe better.

As the rest of the detachment ran off to carry out their commander’s order, Asenka ran in the direction of the King Prawn. She only hoped that she’d get there before Haaken and his people could make sail.

Makala soared above the buildings of dockside in bat form, wheeling and darting above the fog layer, exulting in the beauty of moon and starlight and the delicious freedom of not being shackled to the ground. She’d considered attempting to speak with Diran tonight, but it had been months since he’d allowed her to choose death at his hands or life as a vampire, and though she’d kept watch over him ever since, she hadn’t so much as allowed him to see her, let alone speak to him. She thought perhaps he was aware of her presence from time to time, but if so, he’d never sought her out. Perhaps he didn’t want to see her again. Perhaps he regretted his decision to let her live. He was a priest of the Silver Flame, one of the Purified, dedicated to destroying evil in all its myriad manifestations. Perhaps Diran had been avoiding her because he knew that if they encountered one another again, he’d be forced to destroy her.

Maybe she was simply afraid of witnessing the revulsion in his eyes once he saw how much she had become a creature of the night since they’d parted. Every night she awoke she felt there was less of the woman Makala left in her and more of the dark thing she was becoming. It had taken Erdis Cai the better part of four decades to lose the last shreds of his humanity. Makala, perhaps because of the dark spirit she’d once played host to, seemed to be changing far more swiftly. She wondered how much longer it would be before the woman she had been truly died at last, and she became a monster in both body and soul. Look at what she’d done—or almost done—to Asenka tonight. Simply because she’d been jealous, she’d threatened the woman, been tempted to feed on her, even though she’d fed on Eneas earlier.

No, she couldn’t see Diran again, not in person. She would just have to content herself with acting as his unseen guardian, watching over him and helping him secretly whenever she could.

Though it was not yet midnight, Makala was weary—in spirit if not in body—and she decided to fly back to the dock and return to the
Boundless
and her obsidian sarcophagus. Perhaps if she were lucky, she’d fall into the torpor that vampires experienced instead of sleep before the dawn. If not … well, at least she’d be locked away where she could do no further harm this night.

As Makala drew near the docks, she felt the pull of the ocean. It tugged at her, as if exerting some form of magnetic force, urging her to come closer so that it could reach out with liquid hands and pull her down into its cold dark depths. It was as if all water—so vital to life—despised the undead and wanted nothing more than to destroy them. Though minor bodies of water such as streams and small rivers exerted the same pull, they were mere annoyances to vampires. Resisting the power of a sea took a great deal of strength. The sooner Makala was back aboard the
Boundless
and safe within her black coffin, the better.

She swooped down to the vessel, navigating by a complex interplay of bat senses, human intuition, and vampiric psychic abilities, but just as she reached the
Boundless
and was about to land upon the deck, she heard voices.

“Into the hold with those two, but go easy! I want the priest and his half-orc servant in the peak of health when we reach Demothi Island.”

Makala didn’t question how Diran and Ghaji had come to be captured. In life she had been more of a doer than a thinker, and death hadn’t changed that quality in her. She banked upward, beating her wings as she flew toward the sound of wicked laughter. The ship was berthed at the furthermost end of the dock, and as Makala approached, she heard brisk movement—boots shuffling on deck, ropes being untied and cast off—and she knew that the vessel’s occupants were preparing to get underway. Though she was only a few dozen yards closer to the open
sea than where the
Boundless
was berthed, the mystic pull of the water was far stronger here, and as she angled down to the deck, she had to concentrate to resist the water’s tug. It was as if the sea were interfering with her senses in an attempt to cause her to miss the ship and splash into the water, but she managed to make her descent—albeit an uncertain, wobbly one—and just as her tiny bat feet were about to come in contact with the wood, her form became living shadow that stretched and reformed itself into her natural shape.

It was part of a vampire’s powers that personal items such as clothing and weaponry disappeared when one assumed an alternate shape and reappeared when one resumed human form. Makala had no idea where these objects went during her transformations, and she really didn’t care. She was simply glad that the process worked the way it did. She drew her sword and cast about the deck, searching for the man who’d ordered Diran and Ghaji to be stowed in the hold. The fog was thinner at this end of the dock, and Makala, with her vampiric night-vision, had no trouble making out the forms of the ship’s crew. They, however, being mere humans, could not see her. Makala decided to rectify that.

She willed the smoldering crimson flame that dwelt within her eyes to blaze and was rewarded with a shout of, “By the Host, what’s
that?”

It wasn’t the captain’s voice, so she assumed it was one of his underlings that spoke. No matter. She was certain the captain would hear her words.

“You’ve abducted two friends of mine.” Makala spoke in a hollow-toned voice that seemed to issue forth from everywhere and nowhere all at once. She hoped the kidnappers would find the effect suitably chilling. “Release them and I’ll allow you to depart in peace. Refuse, and I shall kill every one of you and then free them myself.”

One of the crewmembers took several strides toward her, drawing his sword as he came. “Who might you be, missy? And more to the point, what makes you think you can scare us with your strangely spoken words and street-magician’s light show?”

Makala smiled, revealing her fangs, though she doubted anyone could see them in the fog. “If you want to find out, just keep walking toward me.”

The man hesitated. He was close enough now that Makala could make out his features despite the fog, and she saw he was tall, muscular, and blond-bearded. He carried a long-sword with the natural ease of someone who’d had so much practice wielding it over the years that the weapon had become virtually an extension of his own body. Not that it would do him any good.

She sniffed the air and smelled the blood coursing through the man’s body. He was strong, in the prime of his life, and his blood smelled to her like the finest of wines. Makala’s hunger welled within her, powerful and insistent, and for an instant she forgot about Diran and Ghaji. She pictured herself leaping upon the man and burying her fangs in the sweet-salty flesh of his neck, drinking deeply and letting the warm wet fluid that was life itself gush down her throat. She went so far as to take a step toward him, but she restrained herself. She wasn’t an animal, and her friends—
Diran
—needed her.

“I have little patience,” Makala said. “I’ll say it one more time: release my friends or—”

She didn’t get the chance to finish her ultimatum. A pair of sailors, both men and both as large and muscular as their captain—rushed at her from both sides and grabbed hold of her arms.

Blond-Beard grinned. “Looks like we have three passengers to ferry to Demothi Island now.”

Unlike Diran, Makala hadn’t been raised in the Principalities, and she’d never heard of Demothi Island. Whatever it was,
Blond-Beard acted as if going there was some sort of terrible fate. Not that it mattered, for Makala had no intention of letting Blond-Beard and his crew set sail.

Makala flexed her arms and slammed the two sailors that had hold of her into each other. Their skulls collided with a sickening hollow sound, and the men slumped motionless to the deck.