Forge of the Mindslayers: Blade of the Flame Book 2 (28 page)

Solus gazed down from his vantage point high upon the mountain and saw a city spread out below him, and beyond it, a slate-gray mass of water that stretched for mile after mile toward the eastern horizon. Though he had never seen such a sight before, the memories he had accidentally stolen from his makers whispered that he was looking at a vast body of water called the sea.

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

Solus turned to see that he wasn’t alone. Standing on the mountaintop next to him was a tall, lithe figure sporting a long brown ponytail braid woven with multicolored crystals. Solus felt no fear upon seeing the man, only mild curiosity blended
with a sense of familiarity, as if he’d seen the man somewhere before, but that was impossible, of course. Aside from some representatives from House Cannith who’d come to investigate what had happened at the Mount Luster facility a few weeks after Solus’s birth, the psi-forged had never seen another living being … or had he?

“Who are you?”

The tall man smiled, and Solus’s stolen memories whispered that it was a warm, friendly smile. “My name is Galharath. I am your friend.”

Solus did not possess facial features capable of expression, but if he had, he would’ve frowned. “How can this be so? I do not know you.” Yet he couldn’t escape the feeling that he
did
know this man, this Galharath, only he couldn’t remember from where.

The man put a hand on Solus’s shoulder, and the psi-forged saw that Galharath wore leather gauntlets containing more crystals embedded over the knuckles. The crystals pulsed with soft, gentle light—and they pulsed in time with the glow emanating from the larger crystal shard attached to the front of Galharath’s vest. Solus thought this detail was important, but he wasn’t sure why.

“You may not know me now, but you knew me once,” Galharath said, “before your memories were taken from you.”

“My
memories … taken?”

“You still retain a few faint echoes of memory, the merest scraps of the knowledge you once possessed. I have some small skill with matters of the mind, and I’ve been working to restore your memories but without success. I have come to realize that your memories aren’t simply damaged. They are gone, and this is the man who took them.”

Galharath turned the palm of his free hand upward. Colors shimmered into existence above his hand and formed the image
of a human male’s face with long black hair and a lean, wolfish aspect. His gaze was hard and cold, the gaze of a man who felt no pity and gave no mercy.

“Is that him? The man you say took my memories?”

“It is. His name is Diran Bastiaan—a worshipper of evil gods whose only reason for existence is to spread misery across Khorvaire. He is the one who has your memories. Only by confronting him can we hope to get them back.”

Solus didn’t take his gaze off the face of Diran Bastiaan as he spoke. “How can we do that?”

“As I told you, I have some ability with matters of the mind. You also possess great strength of your own. Though Bastiaan is stronger than either of us alone, together we shall prove more than a match for his dark power.”

Solus continued gazing at the image of Diran Bastiaan’s face. He certainly looked like a man capable of the kind of evil that Galharath described, yet Solus couldn’t help feeling that something wasn’t right here, that he was missing something vital, though he had no idea what that might be.

“Your thoughts are in such turmoil, my friend.” Galharath’s tone was sympathetic and caring. “It pains me to think of the confusion that torments you so. Help me to heal you. Help me find Diran Bastiaan, and together we shall reclaim that which is rightfully yours.”

Solus looked at the image hovering in the air above Galharath’s palm for an instant longer before reaching out and closing his three-fingered hand around Diran Bastiaan’s face, snuffing it out of existence.

“Where is this monster?” Solus asked.

Smiling, Galharath pointed to the city spread out below them.

Chagai got to his feet when he heard the sounds of movement coming from within the workshop. A moment later, the psi-forged strode forth with heavy footfalls, Galharath following close behind.

“Were you successful?” Cathmore asked, voice tight with barely restrained excitement.

“I was,” the kalashtar said, “and we can speak freely. Our friend is now the sole inhabitant of his own private mindscape. He shall see and hear only what I permit—as long as I remain close to him, that is.”

Solus didn’t pause during this exchange. He continued walking toward the stairs at the far end of the workshop level.

“Perhaps you succeeded
too
well, artificer,” Chagai said. “We’ll have to get moving if we don’t want the construct to leave us behind.”

“Indeed,” Cathmore said. “Let’s go.” The elderly assassin started hobbling after the psi-forged, Galharath and Chagai on either side of him.

Asenka stood toward the aft of the
Zephyr
, though not so close that she could overhear what Yvka and Ghaji were saying to each other. Though in truth, given the howling wind that poured forth from the elemental containment ring to fill the sloop’s sails, she would’ve had to be standing right next to the two lovers to hear anything. Still, she wanted to give them their privacy, so she stayed where she was.

Hinto slept inside the
Zephyr
’s cabin, while Tresslar stood at the port railing holding his dragonwand out almost as if it were a fishing rod. Asenka had no idea what the artificer was doing, but he appeared to be in deep concentration, so she didn’t wish to disturb him, and Makala … Asenka’s eyes strayed to the
obsidian sarcophagus resting on the deck between the containment ring and the cabin. She was close enough to the stone coffin that it would only take half a dozen steps for her to reach it. She wished they didn’t have to keep the damned thing above deck, but the
Zephyr
was a small vessel built for speed, not hauling cargo, and there wasn’t enough room below. She knew that the sarcophagus couldn’t be opened from the inside, and that even if Makala did somehow get out, she wouldn’t be able to withstand the light of the sun. Even so, she didn’t feel comfortable with the thing—and the creature it contained—always present, and it seemed she wasn’t the only one who felt that way, though perhaps for different reasons.

Diran stood at the bow of the
Zephyr
, gripping the railing to steady himself, his long black hair billowing behind him in the wind. His cloak barely stirred in the breeze, and Asenka knew that was because the daggers sheathed inside the inner lining weighted it down. The priest hadn’t said much since coming aboard the
Zephyr
, and no one had made an issue of his silence. They’d also obviously made a point of leaving him alone. Asenka felt sorry for Diran. From what she gathered, this was the first time he’d seen Makala since her transformation into a vampire … a transformation that for some reason Diran felt responsible for. She wanted to go to him and be a sympathetic ear if nothing else, but she couldn’t bring herself to disturb his self-imposed solitude, much as she might wish otherwise.

Asenka’s thoughts turned to what had occurred so far during their journey back to Perhata. So swiftly did the elemental sloop travel that they’d already encountered the
Water Dragon
, still only two-thirds of the way to Demothi Island. Yvka had stopped the
Zephyr
long enough for Asenka to tell the Sea Scorpions what had happened and order them to return home. She felt somewhat foolish doing so, for it pointed up the fact that Diran hadn’t needed her and her people at all. The priest’s friends had
proved quite capable of coming to his aid all on their own—if only to give Diran and Ghaji a ride back to Perhata.

Asenka still couldn’t believe that Diran and Ghaji had broken the curse on Demothi Island by themselves. She didn’t know why she had ever imagined she might be of any use to them … to
him
. She wasn’t a war veteran or an adventurer. She was just the fleet commander for a third-rate barony in a region teeming with them. As the saying went in the Principalities, there are more fish in the Lhazaar than barons, but only just.

At least her baron wouldn’t have to worry about Haaken and the Coldhearts anymore. Though not all of their bodies had been found, Asenka felt confident that they had perished either at the hands of Diran and Ghaji or when their ship had run aground. Either way, they were no longer a concern, and it would be some time before Baroness Calida could rebuild her fleet. Until that happened, Perhata would control the Gulf of Ingjald. Baron Mahir would certainly be pleased, even if the victory wasn’t the Sea Scorpions’ doing.

Though the sun was well above the eastern horizon now and the sky was clear, it was still quite cold aboard the
Zephyr
, and Asenka thought the wind stirred up by their swift passage was only partially to blame. She also noticed that thin patches of ice coated the deck and railing in numerous places—the first ice she had seen since the elemental sloop had set sail the night before. Since she didn’t have anything else to do, she decided to go speak to Tresslar about it. Besides, it would give her a chance to find out just what the artificer was doing with his wand. She headed over to join Tresslar and, not wishing to break his concentration, she waited for him to acknowledge her presence. When he didn’t, she spoke up.

“There are patches of ice on the ship.”

Tresslar didn’t turn to look at her. “Hmm?”

“I think something might be wrong with whatever warming spell you placed on the
Zephyr.”

That
got the artificer’s attention. He snapped his head around to face her, features twisted into a disapproving scowl. “What are you talking about? When
I
cast a spell, it …” He trailed off and rubbed his free hand over a tiny spot of ice on the railing in front of him. His expression softened, as did his tone. “Oh. I see what you mean. I’ll tend to it at once.”

Tresslar touched the golden dragonhead on the end of his wand to the ice on the railing. As near as Asenka could tell, the artificer didn’t do anything, but a moment later tiny curls of steam issued forth from the dragonhead’s nostrils—though there didn’t appear to be any sort of opening in them. The steam touched the ice, melting it instantly. The wispy coils didn’t evaporate, though. Instead they began to expand, spreading all along the port railing, then—Asenka looked over her shoulder—to the starboard railing. The steam, moving more like fog now, rolled down the railing and onto the deck, picking up speed as it spread. It coated the deck, the cabin, the mast and sails, and even the containment ring and Yvka’s chair, though it never touched any of the people on the
Zephyr
. There was only one other thing that the steam didn’t come in contact with: Makala’s obsidian coffin. The warm white mist passed around the black sarcophagus, coming no closer than three inches to the unholy dark stone. Once it had covered the entire ship, the steam-coating lingered for several seconds before finally dissipating in the wind.

Asenka could feel the difference at once. The air around them was noticeably warmer, as was the deck beneath their feet.

“That was most impressive,” Asenka said, and she meant it. “Thank you, but it was nothing. A mere trifle.” Despite Tresslar’s words, it was clear her praise pleased him.

Since he seemed in a better mood now, Asenka decided to keep talking. “Earlier, I noticed you were holding your wand out before you almost as if it were a fishing rod.”

Tresslar chuckled. “I suppose I
was
fishing, after a fashion. The golden dragonhead has the ability to absorb and store magical energy. I can then release this energy at a later time and use it for whatever task I wish. Though it’s easier to simply cast the same sort of spell that was originally absorbed. Using heat energy to create heat, as opposed to trying to use it to try and create wind, like the elemental bound in the
Zephyr
’s containment ring. That sort of thing.”

Asenka wasn’t exactly sure what Tresslar was talking about, but she nodded anyway. “So you were … what? Fishing for magic?”