Forge of the Mindslayers: Blade of the Flame Book 2 (35 page)

His hearing wasn’t as acute in his natural form as it was in wolf shape, but it was good enough to allow the barghest to overhear the discussion that had taken place beneath him. He hadn’t witnessed the psi-forged’s attack on the priest and his companions, but he’d heard it from where he’d clung to the piling beneath the dock. He understood that the construct and those who’d commanded it had come from Mount Luster—they were the “neighbors” that Skarm and his mistress had been aware of for some time. Skarm hadn’t known they were in possession of a creation forge, however. Most interesting. Also interesting was the fact that Diran Bastiaan and his companions sounded determined to go after the current residents of Mount Luster, provided they could rouse the psi-forged and get him to tell them the location of his masters. Skarm was confident that they would succeed, especially since their artificer had the Amahau to rely on.

So far Skarm had had been unable to retrieve the Amahau on his own, and right now he was too wounded and weak to even think about making another attempt. Yet if the priest and his friends traveled to Mount Luster, they’d bring the Amahau with them—almost directly to Nathifa’s doorstep—and by then Skarm would be fully healed and could make another try for the Amahau. Also, he thought his mistress would be interested to learn about the creation forge hidden within Mount Luster. Most interested, indeed.

Skarm made his way to the edge of the roof—every movement of his burned body an agony—and dropped to the ground. He clamped his mouth shut to keep from screaming in pain as he landed, then limped off to find a victim so that his healing might begin in earnest.

In a seldom used chamber within Mount Luster—one devoid entirely of furnishings—the air rippled and blurred. When space resumed its normal shape, the chamber was no longer empty. Cathmore, Chagai, and Galharath had returned home, thanks to teleportation capabilities of one of the kalashtar’s crystals.

“I thought that went rather well,” Cathmore said.

“You must be joking,” Chagai said. “Not only did the construct fail to destroy Bastiaan, Galharath was forced to destroy it.” For a supposed master assassin, you managed to miss your target most effectively, Chagai added mentally.

Cathmore was unfazed by Chagai’s criticism. “True, the outcome was less than I’d hoped for, but our test was not entirely without success. The potential demonstrated by Solus was most impressive, and now that we have a better understanding of his flaws, we can make sure that the psi-forged we produce are more … tractable.”

“We still have a long way to go,” Galharath cautioned, “though I agree our experience with Solus will help us reach that day more quickly.”

“You realize that Bastiaan, Ghaji, and the others will track us to Mount Luster?” Chagai asked.

Cathmore grinned. “Of course. We shall prepare an appropriate welcome for them.”

Chagai scowled. “I thought the kalashtar said we can’t produce our own psi-forged yet.”

“Correct,” Galharath confirmed, “but the facility’s builders designed the forge to be adapted for use as a defense system.” It might have been a trick of the light, but the psionic artificer’s eyes seemed to glow momentarily. “With a few adjustments, the psi-forge itself can be turned into a weapon—and a most deadly one at that.”

Now it was Chagai’s turn to grin.

The instant the sun vanished below the horizon, a knocking sound came from within the obsidian sarcophagus. Diran opened the lid partway, and Makala’s hand emerged to grip the lid and push it the rest of the way open. Despite himself Diran took a step backward as Makala sat up and turned to look at him. The crimson fire of undeath danced in her eyes, mingled with an all-too-human sorrow upon seeing Diran’s reaction.

“I’m sorry,” Diran said.

Makala didn’t acknowledge his apology. Instead she climbed out of the sarcophagus with a fluid grace that was as alluring as it was inhuman and stepped onto the deck of the
Zephyr
. Makala closed the lid of her resting place.

She looked around. “I see we’re in a lagoon of some sort. Are we back in Perhata?”

“Close by,” Diran said. “This is one of the Shadow Network’s hidden ports. The lagoon is concealed by an illusion spell that makes it seem as if this area is nothing but desolate shoreline. Yvka brought me here so that I could … let you out.”

“Thank you.”

For several moments neither of them spoke. There was so much Diran wanted to say to her, but he had no idea how to begin. Finally, Makala broke the silence.

“I assume we had an uneventful trip back from Demothi Island.”

“Yes, though our arrival was anything but.” Diran filled her in on everything that had occurred while she’d slumbered. When he was finished, her eyes blazed with crimson fire, and her canine teeth had become more pronounced.

“Aldarik Cathmore … I never thought I’d see him again. At least, I hoped I wouldn’t.” Like Diran, Makala had remained loyal to Emon Gorsedd when Cathmore had attempted to take over
the Brotherhood of the Blade, and she’d felt nothing but hatred for the man ever since. “You’re going to kill him, of course.”

Diran was shocked by how casually Makala spoke these words. “I intend to stop him from using the psi-forge for his own purposes.”

Makala smiled, fully displaying her incisors, and she reached up to touch Diran’s cheek with fingers cold as ice. “I understand that you follow a different path now, but surely even one of the Purified knows that you can’t allow a beast like Cathmore to live. He may be human, Diran, but he’s just as evil as any of the undead creatures that you’ve destroyed.”

“And more so than some,” he acknowledged, “but I’m not an assassin anymore, Makala. I kill only when I have no other choice.”

Makala’s smile widened a fraction more than seemed humanly possible. “That makes two of us.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the cold late-autumn air skittered down Diran’s spine.

“Where is Cathmore?” Makala asked.

“I believe he’s taken possession of a hidden creation-forge facility somewhere in the Hoarfrost Mountains. Probably not too far from here, as he sends his orc servant into Perhata for supplies from time to time. Tresslar is working on restoring the warforged to consciousness so that we can question him and learn Cathmore’s exact location.”

“What if Tresslar doesn’t succeed?”

Diran shrugged. “Asenka is confident Baron Mahir will give us the resources to track down Cathmore if we should need them.”

Makala’s smile vanished. “Asenka is quite a woman, isn’t she? Strong, confident, beautiful …”

Makala’s voice contained a hint of a growl, and Diran was suddenly uncomfortable. “She’s an effective commander.”

Makala leaned in close until all Diran could see was her crimson eyes.

“She wants you, Diran, and you her. Don’t deny it.”

Diran wanted to open his mouth to do that very thing, but he couldn’t. His mind felt muzzy, as if it were wrapped in thick cotton, and his thoughts flowed sluggishly, like half-frozen tree sap.

“She’s not good enough for you. You should just keep your relationship professional. In fact, it would be better if you didn’t have anything to do with her at all.”

Yes. Why hadn’t he realized that before? It was so clear … Asenka was nothing compared to Makala. Nothing at all.

Diran reached for Makala, intending to take her in his arms, but then she smiled, revealing her fangs once more. Diran understood then what was happening, and he closed his eyes to shut out the crimson light shining in Makala’s gaze. He took a step backward and turned away from her before allowing himself to open his eyes.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he said, still avoiding her gaze.

Makala said nothing for a moment, then she spoke as if nothing had happened between them just now. “If Tresslar fails to awaken Solus, you’ll need another way to find Cathmore. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll conduct a search of my own.”

An instant later, Diran felt a breeze and heard the sound of leathery wings beating the air. He looked up to see a large bat winging away from the lagoon, heading westward toward the Hoarfrost Mountains. He stood watching it for a long time.

D
arkness …

Soothing, silent.

No voices, no confusion.

For the first time since he had been brought into existence, Solus knew peace. Wherever or whatever this placeless place was, he had no intention of ever leaving.

Light stabbed into his eyes.

He tried to close them and shut the light out, but warforged eyes didn’t function the same way that other creatures’ did, and he had no choice but to allow the light in.

“Mfixzumedl … hear me?”

Solus swiveled his head in the direction of the voice and found himself looking at the blurry outline of a face. Male from the voice, and human, he guessed, though his vision was still too fuzzy to tell for certain.

“Yes, but I can’t see you clearly.”

“Your vision should be fine in a few moments,” the man said, and then added, “I think.”

Solus didn’t find that particularly reassuring, but he saw no reason to make mention of it. Either his eyes would work efficiently or they wouldn’t. “Where am I? Who are you?”

Another voice answered, this one also male but higher-pitched, as if it belonged to a child. “You’re lying atop a table in the common room of the Sea Scorpions’ barracks. We brought you here after your head exploded.”

The voice came from his left, so Solus turned his head in that direction. This man was shorter than the other, and though the psi-forged’s vision was no clearer than it had been a moment ago, he thought he recognized this man, not from his blurry features, but rather from his aura. A name came to the forefront of Solus’s mind, and he spoke it aloud.

“Hinto.”

The small blurry face broke into a grin. “That’s right! How are you feeling?”

“I …” Solus didn’t possess the facial muscles to frown, but if he had, he would’ve done so now. “The voices … I don’t hear them.”

The owner of the first voice spoke. “Voices?”

“When I was born, I absorbed the minds of my makers. Their voices have been with me ever since, sometimes as soft murmurs in the background of my thoughts, sometimes as deafening shouts. They are still present … I can
feel
their memories, but I no longer hear them speak.”

“While I was repairing you, I detected an odd imbalance in your energy matrices. I suppose it was caused by these voices of yours. At any rate, I realigned your matrices, so they shouldn’t give you any more problems.”

“You mean just like his eyes?” Hinto said.

“I never claimed to be an expert on warforged! I was working primarily on instinct and intuition. To be honest, I’m surprised he’s functional at all.”

Hinto reached out and patted Solus’s hand. “Don’t mind Tresslar. He gets grouchy sometimes.” The small man lowered his voice. “It’s because he’s old.”

“Not so old that I didn’t hear that!” Tresslar snapped.

Solus decided to try sitting up. His body moved sluggishly, as if reluctant to cooperate, but he managed the simple maneuver then turned to Tresslar.