The Thieves of Blood: Blade of the Flame - Book 1 (9 page)

She remained still to conserve her strength and breathed deeply and evenly. After a time, the pain in her head lessened until it became manageable, though it didn’t go away entirely. Her tears dried and she opened her eyes once more. The light was dim, but it was enough for her to make out the shadowy forms of a dozen people or more sitting on the floor around her. Though she couldn’t discern their individual features, she could tell by their sizes and shapes that they were a mix of men and women, adults, youth, and children. She had no doubt they were all wearing manacles and chains just as she was.

Makala was still dressed, though her crossbow had been taken from her or perhaps was lost somewhere along the way. The various smaller weapons she kept concealed on her person were gone as well. Though she’d been trained to kill a target with her bare hands as easily as she could with a weapon, she still felt naked, far more so than if she
had
been undressed.
She was trained in hand-to-hand combat, but what good were such fighting techniques when she could barely move?

“Poor girl. The raiders handled you pretty rough, did they?”

Makala was startled by the voice, and she turned toward it too fast, causing her head to throb anew. The voice was that of an elderly woman, but all Makala could see was a blurry outline of her form. Makala squinted, but her eyes refused to focus.

Knowledge can just be as powerful a weapon as any made of steel. Sometimes more so
.

Emon’s advice again, and again Makala decided to heed it. “Where am I?” she asked, her voice coming out as a dry croak.

“You’re aboard one of the Black Fleet ships,” the old woman said. “I believe this one’s called
Nightwind
, though I don’t know for certain. I overheard a couple of raiders call her by that name, but my hearing isn’t what it used to be, so perhaps I’m mistaken.”

Black Fleet? Raiders? The words sounded familiar, but …

With a rush, Makala’s memories returned. Port Verge, Diran, Ghaji, Yvka, the raiders, and Onkar, who, it seemed, was a vampire. Obviously she’d been rendered unconscious and brought to the hold of this ship and put in manacles, along with the rest of the captives, but for what purpose? To be made a slave? She thought once more of Onkar’s glistening fangs and another more terrible possibility occurred to her. Maybe she, along with the others around her, were meant to be
food
.

Her vision had cleared to the point where she could make out the old woman’s features. She wore a simple white blouse, brown skirt, and a knit shawl over her shoulders. She had a lean face, wrinkled, but not overly so, along with curly white hair. Her eyes seemed to be yellowish, but Makala was certain that
had to be a trick of the light or perhaps her own still-addled mind. The woman also had a pair of what looked like gray sideburns running down to the edge of her jaw. There was something about those eyes and sideburns that seemed significant to Makala, but she couldn’t think what it might be at the moment. Besides, she wanted to know about Diran and the others.

“Have you seen my companions? Were they captured, too?” Makala gave the old woman a quick description of Diran, Ghaji, and Yvka.

The old woman thought for a moment before answering. “I was conscious when the raiders brought me aboard, though I’m not sure I count that as a blessing. I don’t recall seeing any of your friends as the raiders packed us into the hold. It’s possible that they’re being held on one of the other two ships, but I have no way of knowing.”

So there was no guarantee that Diran and others had escaped the Black Fleet raiders, but then again, there was no indication that they’d been captured either. Until she had any evidence to the contrary, she would assume they were still free.

“Tell me, grandmother, what’s your name?” Makala asked.

“Zabeth. I work—worked—as a fish packer in one of the prince’s own warehouses. After the fish were filleted and smoked, it was my job to pack them in salt so they would be ready to travel. I had finished my work for the evening and was on my way home when the raiders struck.” Zabeth’s voice became low and dangerous. It was nearly a growl as she said, “When I was younger, they’d never have taken me alive. I’d have clawed their stinking guts out with my bare hands!”

Makala was taken aback by the woman’s sudden burst of anger, but then she realized—the fuzzy sideburns, the yellow
eyes … Zabeth was a shifter. An elderly one, but a shifter nevertheless. Makala wasn’t all that comfortable around shifters. One never knew when the bestial aspect of their heritage would come to the fore, as witness Zabeth’s sudden outburst, but Zabeth had shown Makala kindness as she’d struggled to regain consciousness, and Makala decided to trust the elderly woman, for now, at least.

“So how does it look?” Makala asked.

Zabeth gave Makala a puzzled frown. “Excuse me?”

“Our situation,” Makala said. “How many of us are there? How many raiders? Are all of us shackled hand and foot? Is there a ladder or a set of stairs that will allow us to climb out of the hold? I assume they keep the hatch locked, but then again, they might not, not if they expect these shackles to keep us from trying anything.”

“Trying
anything?” Zabeth said. “Like what?”

Makala couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Like an escape, for pity’s sake!”

“Escape?” Zabeth sounded both surprised and amused. “You must be joking! That, or your brains were scrambled when the raiders hit you on the head. There’s no way we can escape. We’re chained, and from the smell of blood in the air, I can tell many of us are wounded, and many more are afraid. Even if we somehow could get out of our shackles and reach the upper deck, we have no weapons and we’re on the water, so there’s nowhere to flee. Whether you like it or not, dear, and believe me,
I
don’t, there’s little we can do until we reach whatever destination the raiders have in store for us. Perhaps then an opportunity for escape shall present itself …” Her voice grew softer. “Perhaps.”

Makala realized that she still wasn’t thinking straight. Just
because Zabeth was a shifter didn’t mean she was a warrior. The elderly shifter’s assessment of their situation struck Makala as right on the mark. There really
wasn’t
anything they could do right now, save perhaps rest, heal, and regain their strength while they waited for the Black Fleet to make port. Wherever they were going, since they traveled within the belly of an elemental galleon, they should get there soon enough.

“Maybe you’re right,” Makala said. “I should rest.”

“I’ll do the same,” Zabeth said with obvious approval. The old woman settled back against the wall of the hold, folded her hands over her stomach and closed her eyes.

Makala did likewise, and if she hadn’t been a prisoner chained in darkness, she might’ve found the gentle vibrations in the wood she lay against soothing. Before too long Zabeth was snoring softly, but despite what she’d told Zabeth, Makala refused to sleep.

It was as Emon always said.
When you can’t do anything else, you can still think
.

As the raider vessel
Nightwind
glided swiftly across the Lhazaar Sea to wherever it was bound, Makala thought. She thought through different escape scenarios and their various permutations so that if and when an opportunity presented itself at last, she would be ready.

Mostly she thought about Diran.

I
don’t suppose that one of your priestly abilities allows you to locate sailing vessels?”

Diran’s eyes were closed and his arms crossed over his chest, but Ghaji knew he wasn’t sleeping. Without opening his eyes, the priest replied, “I’m afraid not.”

The
Zephyr
was headed southeast, and the first light of the coming dawn pinked the horizon just above their port bow. The sloop glided swiftly across the calm surface of the sea, her soarwood runners barely kicking up any spray. Ghaji didn’t particularly care for sea travel, but this trip was so smooth he was actually beginning to find it boring.

“We need to do something,” Ghaji said. “We’ve been sailing for hours without any sign of the Black Fleet. It’s a big sea, Diran. I doubt we’ll just happen to bump into Onkar and his crew out here.”

“Of course you’re right,” Diran said, eyes still closed, “but then we won’t need to. Since we’ve left Port Verge, our mysterious
benefactor has been heading on a steady course southeast into what, on the seacharts, at least, is open water, but I believe Yvka has a specific destination in mind.”

Ghaji turned to look back at the elf-woman. She sat in the same position as she had for hours, one hand on the tiller, the other resting in the depression on the arm of the pilot’s chair that allowed her to control the air elemental that powered the
Zephyr
.

“Is this true?” Ghaji asked. “Don’t bother lying to me. I’m tried and hungry, and the only thing meaner than a tired and hungry half-orc is a tired and hungry full-orc.”

“It’s true,” Yvka confirmed. “When we didn’t pick up the Black Fleet’s trail right away, I realized we’d need some help to locate them. I’m taking us to see a friend of mine who might be able to provide us with some useful information.”

“Thanks
so
much for letting us know when we first set sail.” Ghaji’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I’m not one to indulge in idle conversation,” Yvka said.

“Idle?” Ghaji growled. He reached for his axe as he started to stand, but Diran, still not opening his eyes, gently took hold of his friend’s wrist.

“Unless you know how to control an air elemental, I suggest you sit back down.”

Ghaji ground his teeth, but he removed his hand from his axe and did as his companion suggested.

“So we just sit here like good little boys and allow Yvka to take us wherever she feels like?”

“Unless you have a better suggestion.”

Ghaji glared over his shoulder at the enigmatic elf-woman, but she merely looked back, silent and unconcerned. He turned
back to face the bow, folded his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes. “Wake me when we get there.”

“Ghaji, we’re here.”

The half-orc’s eyes snapped open, and he regretted it as they were stabbed by bright daylight. He half-closed his eyes again and squinted at Diran. The priest was shaking Ghaji’s shoulder and none too gently, either.

“Danger?” Ghaji asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“No. Nothing immediate, at least.”

Ghaji nodded and slowly opened his eyes all the way once more and took in their new surroundings. The blue sky was filled with puffy white clouds, and a cool breeze blew across the water. He and Diran were still aboard the
Zephyr
, though there was no sign of Yvka. The sloop had dropped anchor a few dozen yards from mound of black rock the size of a small island, perhaps one hundred yards across, one hundred twenty at the most. Other vessels surrounded the tiny island on all sides—one-masters, mostly, like the
Zephyr
, though there were a few two-masters and even one three-masted frigate. The craggy obsidian surface of the island was bereft of plants and animals, but it was hardly lifeless. A few dozen sailors crowded the tiny island, most standing about and talking, but some had set up small wooden tables and were loudly hawking one product or another. Gulls floated on the breeze, circling the island and keeping a sharp eye out for any morsels of dropped food they might be able to swoop down and snatch.

“Flying rats,” Ghaji muttered.

Many of the people on the island cast interest-filled glances at the
Zephyr
, while others gaped at it with undisguised avarice. Could be trouble, Ghaji thought. They’d have to keep a close eye on the elemental sloop as long as they remained anchored here.

Yvka stood in the midst of the crowd, talking to a gnome dressed in the white shirt, black pants, and head scarf of a common sailor. Yvka evidently asked the gnome a question, for he pointed toward the water, and she nodded. The elf-woman then turned away from the gnome and began picking her way through the crowd toward shore. When she reached the water’s edge, she dove in without hesitation and swam over to her sloop. She treaded water on the vessel’s starboard side as she spoke to them.