The Thieves of Blood: Blade of the Flame - Book 1 (11 page)

Flotsam hesitated for a moment before responding, as if he were carefully considering his reply. “I was under the impression that you, as well as certain mutual associates of ours, had discounted those tales.”

“We had,” Yvka said, “but last night I saw some things that cast new light on your information.”

“Ah! In that case, I’d be more than happy to tell you what I know. Let us sit and talk.”

Ghaji eyed the craggy surface of Nowhere doubtfully. Simply sitting down might be fine for Flotsam; he didn’t have a flesh-and-blood behind. The large warforged sat, and so did Diran and Yvka, so Ghaji did as well, grimacing as he settled onto the hard, uneven rock.

“As Ardella may or may not have told you, I spend a great deal of my time on Nowhere, either atop the island’s surface or beneath the waves. I see and hear many interesting things … things that often prove of value to my friends.”

Ghaji was beginning to understand. If Yvka was a member
of the Shadow Network, then perhaps Flotsam was too. What better place to station a spy than here, an uncharted island in the middle of the Lhazaar Sea where powerful people from across Khorvaire and beyond met to deal and scheme under the protection of neutrality?

“I would think your constant presence wouldn’t go unnoticed by those who come here,” Diran said.

“It doesn’t, but as the story goes, I was marooned here toward the end of the Last War. I found this location soothing after so many years of conflict, so I rejected any offers of rescue from passing vessels. After a time I came to be considered the unofficial caretaker of Nowhere, a role I do my best to fulfill.”

Diran smiled. “As the story goes.”

Flotsam nodded.

“And some of the interesting information you’ve acquired relates to the Black Fleet,” Diran said.

“What I have to tell you was cobbled together from bits and pieces of stories told by dozens of travelers. Keep in mind also that Ardella’s and my friends ultimately discounted the information, but judge for yourself. The tale begins over forty years ago, with a man called Erdis Cai.”

“The explorer?” Ghaji said. Even he’d heard of the legendary sailor Erdis Cai who’d adventured throughout the world’s seas.

“The same,” Flotsam confirmed. “Forty years ago, Erdis Cai and his entire crew were lost when their ship, the
Seastar
, disappeared in the harsh waters of the north. Erdis Cai and his crew were never seen or heard from after that, and all were presumed dead. Decades passed, and one dark night three elemental galleons flying black sails appeared on the Lhazaar and began
raiding small seaside villages, taking little of value save for the people that lived there.”

“The Black Fleet,” Ghaji said.

“The Fleet always struck at night and chose a different target every time,” Flotsam continued, “but their raids, as swift and devastating as they were, left behind survivors—not many, perhaps, but enough. They told of raiders dressed in gray and black, men and women with shorn heads, and they told of the fleet commander, a man named Onkar.”

Diran slapped his hand on his knee. “I
knew
that name was familiar! Onkar was the name of Erdis Cai’s first mate!”

Ghaji frowned. “Are you saying that the Onkar we faced was the same man who sailed with the
Seastar
forty years ago? That would make him eighty years old at least!”

“If Onkar is a vampire, his age would be irrelevant since he would not physically grow older,” Diran said. “You should know that by now, Ghaji, given how many undead you’ve slain at my side.”

“True,” Ghaji said, “but then again, Onkar isn’t all that uncommon a name.
Our
Onkar doesn’t have to be
the
Onkar, if you know what I mean.”

“It could be coincidence,” Diran allowed, “or a simple mistake on the part of the survivors. Terrified people don’t always make the best witnesses.”

“I cannot dispute your words,” Flotsam said. “I can only pass along what I have learned.”

“Let’s assume for a moment that Erdis Cai is behind the Black Fleet raiders,” Diran said, “perhaps as the master vampire with Onkar as his disciple?”

Ghaji shrugged. “I suppose Erdis Cai and his crew wouldn’t
be the first adventurers to stumble upon a nest of vampires.” The half-orc let out a snorting laugh. “Look how often it happens to us.”

“Except when they stumbled out again, they were transformed,” Diran said, “and not for the better.”

“So Erdis Cai and his crew are vampires and the other raiders are their human servants?” Ghaji asked.

“I believe so,” Diran said. “Perhaps Erdis Cai has promised to reward them with immortality if they serve him well.”

“If all this is true,” Ghaji said, “why go about raiding as the Black Fleet? Why draw attention to yourself at all? If the Lhazaar Princes were to pool their resources and go after the Fleet, which they will likely soon do if the raids keep up, the Fleet would be crushed. There has to be an easier, less risky way for Cai to obtain their food.”

Diran thought for a moment. “Perhaps they aren’t abducting people for their blood, or at least, not only for it. Perhaps they have another reason, one that’s worth the risks they take.”

A dark scowl came over Diran’s face, and Ghaji knew he was thinking about Makala and wondering if she was still alive. Ghaji wished he could say something to reassure his friend, but he could think of nothing.

“That makes sense,” Yvka said. “Over the months the Black Fleet has been striking at increasingly larger targets. Port Verge was the largest so far.”

“Maybe the raiders are simply getting more confident,” Ghaji said.

“Perhaps they’re working to some manner of timetable,” Diran said, “and they need to abduct as many people as they can as swiftly as possible.”

“This talk is all well and good,” Ghaji said, “and who knows? Some of it might even be true, but what use is it to us? If Erdis Cai is the vampire lord of the Black Fleet, how does knowing this held us find him?”

“It doesn’t,” Yvka said.

Flotsam cocked his head in a way that made him seem as if he were thinking. “I believe I might know of someone who might be able to lead you to Erdis Cai. He is a human named Tresslar, an elderly artificer who serves on Dreadhold. According to rumor, as a young man he sailed with Erdis Cai. If anyone could tell you more about Cai, it would Tresslar. Assuming the rumors are true, of course.”

“Very well,” Diran said. “Then we shall set sail for Dreadhold at once. Thank you, Flotsam, for …” The priest broke off, his eyes widening. “The shifter is trying to steal the
Zephyr!”

Ghaji, Yvka, and Flotsam turned to look seaward. Sure enough, the shifter who had taken the shark from Flotsam was now aboard the
Zephyr
, swiftly hauling up the anchor. Two others stood on the deck of the sloop: A barechested, dark-skinned man covered with brightly colored concentric tattoos and a half-elven female with long blond hair who wore a green skirt and a top that left her midriff bare. They were all dripping wet, and it was no great leap of logic to guess that the shifter and his compatriots had swam silently from their ship to the
Zephyr
and stealthily climbed aboard. As the shifter worked to bring up the anchor, his two companions, both armed with bows, kept watch. The message was clear: if anyone tried to stop the thieves, they’d make the sudden acquaintance of the business end of an arrow.

Flotsam started to rise, but Yvka grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

“Why did you do that?” the warforged asked, sounding more puzzled than angry. “Arrows can’t harm me.”

“True,” Yvka said, “but you’d never reach the
Zephyr
in time. They can’t activate and control the air elemental, but they can use the oars to row the boat far away enough that you won’t be able to get to it.”

Ghaji figured the thieves would tie the
Zephyr
to their two-master then tow the elemental sloop someplace where they could sell it for a handsome price.

“They can’t have it,” Diran said. “I need that craft if I’m to have any hope of finding Makala.” A wild gleam came into Diran’s eyes then, and Ghaji groaned, for he knew his friend had just had an idea.

Without taking his gaze from the thieves, Diran said, “Ghaji, your axe is still aboard the
Zephy
r, isn’t it?”

“Under one of the seats,” the half-orc confirmed.

“Get ready to grab it as soon as you’re back aboard.”

Before Ghaji could ask his friend just what he was talking about, Diran spoke to Flotsam. “When I give you the signal, I want you to pick Ghaji up and hurl him onto the
Zephyr
. Are you strong enough to do that?”

“Yes,” Flotsam said, without any hint of ego or boasting, merely stating a fact.

“Well then,” Diran said, “get ready.”

Ghaji wished they had time to discuss alternative plans, especially ones that didn’t involve him being thrown like a ball by a barnacle-encrusted warforged, but there was no time. A quick glance showed Ghaji that the crew of the two-master was already frantically scurrying about, preparing to set sail and leave Nowhere, and the rightful owner of the
Zephyr
, far behind.

“Now!”

Diran stood, drawing a pair of daggers from the leather strap around his chest as he did. As he straightened to his full height, he hurled the daggers toward the
Zephyr
and the thieves who now trod her decks. Ghaji presumed the blades streaked toward their targets, but he didn’t see if they did, for Flotsam scooped him up with his thick metal and stone arms as if the half-orc were but an infant. The huge warforged spun around twice to build up momentum, then he released Ghaji into the air.

The world became a rushing blur as Ghaji ascended, and it felt as if his stomach sank to the bottoms of his feet. He straightened his arms out before him, his legs behind, as if he were preparing to dive into water. Though there was plenty of the wet stuff for leagues in all directions, he was hoping to land on a soarwood deck. He reached the apex of his flight and began to plunge downward. Now his stomach felt as if it were pressing against the back of his throat, perhaps in a desperate attempt to escape before the fool who controlled their mutual body managed to get both of them killed.

Ghaji saw the deck of the
Zephyr
rapidly approaching. The tattooed man clutched the hilt of a dagger protruding from his left shoulder, blood streaming from the wound and pouring over his fingers. The half-elf had crouched down to make herself a smaller target and was swiftly drawing arrows from her quiver, nocking and loosing them with speed and grace. If she’d been wounded by one of Diran’s daggers, she showed no sign of it. The shifter had gotten the anchor up and was now fitting the oars to the oarlocks. Of the three thieves, Ghaji would’ve liked to take out the half-elven archer first, but his trajectory wasn’t
carrying him toward her. It was, however, taking him straight toward the wounded man.

Flying half-orcs can’t be choosers, I guess, Ghaji thought, then he balled his hands into fists and slammed into the tattooed man.

The dark-skinned thief howled in pain and fury as he and Ghaji crumpled to a heap on the deck. Ghaji heard the harsh, brittle sound of snapping bones, and he hoped they weren’t his. The impact had, however, knocked the wind out of Ghaji, and gasping for breath, he rolled off the tattooed man and reached for the compartment where he’d stowed his axe. He managed to close his fingers around the haft just as he heard the twang of a released bowstring. He rolled to the side as an arrow sank into the wooden deck after passing through the space where his throat had been an instant before. As he came up onto his feet, he brought the flat of his axe head up and deflected another arrow.

The half-elf stood facing him, already nocking another arrow. Ghaji was about to throw his axe at her, when her eyes went wide and she stiffened. She released her grip on her bow and it clattered to the deck, arrow undrawn and unreleased. The woman took a step toward Ghaji, her mouth working but no sound coming out. She pitched forward, and as she fell to the deck, Ghaji saw the hilt of a dagger protruding from between her shoulder blades.

Ghaji knew he had Diran to thank for saving him, but he had no time to spare for even a grateful wave. He heard a growl and turned just in time to meet the shifter’s charge. The man had assumed his more bestial aspect; his eyes were feral yellow, his teeth longer and sharper, fingers now hooked into deadly
claws, and his body hair had grown wild and shaggy, more like wolf fur than human hair. Often the mere sight of such a transformation was enough to startle a shifter’s opponent, causing him or her to hesitate for one fateful second … and a second was all any shifter needed.

Ghaji had faced many shifters on the battlefields of the Last War, and he’d fought far more fearsome foes since joining up with Diran. Thus the half-orc didn’t hesitate as the shifter came lunging toward him. He didn’t have time to swing his axe, but he was able to bring it up in time for the shifter to slam face-first into the flat of the axe-head. The shifter staggered back, nose gushing blood.

“Leave now and I’ll forget I ever saw you,” Ghaji offered. “Stay and die.”

The shifter glared at Ghaji with his amber eyes and licked at the blood covering his upper lip.

“Big talk from a half-breed,” the shifter snarled.

Ghaji’s grip tightened on his axe. “Now
that
was the wrong thing to say.”

He stepped forward and swung his axe in a vicious arc at the shifter’s neck. The shifter leaned backward just in time to avoid having his throat sliced open. He countered with a swipe of his claws aimed at Ghaji’s face, but the half-orc brought his left arm up to block the blow. Ghaji had allowed the momentum of his failed axe swing to bring the weapon around, and now he brought the axe up over his head and slammed it down on the shifter’s. The sharp blade sliced through the shifter’s scalp, shattered the top of his skull, and bit into the soft pulpy mass within.

The shifter stopped fighting and stood looking at Ghaji,
blinking several times in an expression of bewilderment, as if he couldn’t quite understand what had happened to him.