Sea of Death: Blade of the Flame - Book 3 (40 page)

The priest turned and started walking toward the web-covered creature. He paused at the spot where Nathifa had been standing to gather up the daggers that had fallen when Solus stopped levitating them. Most of the blades he slipped back into their cloak sheaths.
But a couple—the sharpest ones—he held onto with tight, white-knuckled fists.

Diran reached the barghest, crouched down next to him, and began speaking softly. So softly that even Ghaji’s excellent hearing couldn’t make out what the priest said.

Ghaji turned toward the others. “Now that the web mummies are no longer aggressive, it should be simple enough for us to destroy them. All we need to do is make a few torches and set them on fire, keeping watch for any escaping spiderlings as their hosts burn.”

“I have little psionic energy remaining to me, but I believe I have enough left to start a fire,” Solus said. “Unfortunately, it takes more energy to maintain control of such an ability than it does to merely wield it. If I attempt to create a flame right now, I might very well create a conflagration that will fill the entire crypt.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tresslar said, glancing sideways at Diran and the barghest. “We can manage by making torches the old-fashioned way.”

“You can help by guarding Asenka’s”—Ghaji had been about to say
body
—“guarding Asenka. If any spiderlings get past us, you can levitate them away from her.”

The psiforged inclined his head somberly. “It will be my honor to take care of our friend.”

Ghaji was about to tell the others to begin looking for material to make torches when the barghest’s first scream tore through the air. It was far from the creature’s last.

T
he first rays of dawn were just beginning to tint the eastern sky when they laid Asenka to rest. The companions stood before a funeral pyre fashioned from rocks and tree limbs, watching as flames tinted with silverburn wreathed the woman’s body. Though they had burned out the infestation of spider spawn in the ancient underground crypt, Diran had insisted on cremating Asenka, just in case any more of the giant arachnids might be laired elsewhere in the vicinity. The followers of the Silver Flame usually buried their dead, but Ghaji knew Diran couldn’t bear the thought of Asenka becoming a web mummy, and the half-orc didn’t blame him.

As Diran prayed for the Silver Flame to accept Asenka’s soul, Ghaji kept close watch for any sign of threat. They’d already lost two members of their party on this expedition, and he was determined that no one else would die, not as long as the merest scrap of strength remained to him.

Ghaji doubted Nathifa, Makala, or Haaken would return. For one thing, daylight was swiftly approaching, which meant Makala would need to seek shelter from the sun. For another, Skarm had told Diran everything about Nathifa’s plans, and the companions now knew all that had transpired since the lich had stolen Tresslar’s
dragonwand at the psi-forge facility within Mount Luster. According to the barghest, his mistress and her servants were on their way to Regalport right now. Skarm had been vague on what Nathifa hoped to accomplish once she arrived at the port city. It seemed the undead sorceress had only shared so much information with her underlings. But Ghaji knew that whatever the lich had planned, it didn’t bode well for the citizens of Regalport.

Ghaji glanced at Diran. The priest stood with his head bowed, speaking prayers in hushed, reverent tones. Leontis, in human form once more, stood next to his old friend, intoning the same prayers along with him. After Ghaji had split the werewolf’s skull with his axe, the beast had remained unconscious for some time as it healed, and by the time its wounds had finally vanished, the wolf had become a man again.

Ghaji was worried about Diran. He had traveled with the priest for some time now, and they had seen each other at their best and their worst. Ghaji understood that his friend had lived the first half of his life as a killer for hire, and he’d witnessed the assassin within Diran come to the fore on a number of occasions. But the half-orc had never seen Diran do anything as cold-blooded as the methodical way he’d “questioned” Skarm. Diran had taken his time, patiently waited for the barghest’s screams to die away so that he could ask the next question. And if he didn’t like the answer he got—or if Skarm was too hesitant in answering—Diran used one of his blades and the screaming would start anew. When Diran had been satisfied the barghest had told them all it could, Diran had told the creature that he was going to heal it. What the priest didn’t tell Skarm was that since he had a strong dose of tomb spider venom inside him, the healing magic would have the opposite effect. At least the barghest had died quickly.

Ghaji had no sympathy for Skarm, and he certainly wasn’t sorry the creature was dead. But he worried about the effect of Asenka’s death on Diran. The priest had worked long and hard to put his former life behind him, to become something new, something
better
, and he’d inspired Ghaji to do the same. To one degree or another, in ways great or small, Diran had inspired the others as well. Now Ghaji feared Diran would turn his sorrow, anger, and guilt over Asenka’s death inward, until the emotions fused into self-hatred.
Ghaji was afraid his friend would return to killing for the sake of killing, slaying out of a need for revenge rather than to protect others. And if that happened, the good man Diran Bastiaan had fought to become might well be lost forever.

They’d built Asenka’s pyre on the other side of the hill near the entrance to Paganus’s cavern. They’d found another tunnel leading out of the crypt and had followed it to the surface. The outer entrance was just large enough for a humanoid to slip through—or a tomb spider, if she drew her legs in close to her body. They’d discovered a small semi-permanent camp at the base of the hill: lean-tos and simple shacks, most of which had fallen into disrepair. The camp was deserted, and from the few meager possessions they’d found inside the crude shelters, they guessed that this had been the temporary home for an expedition that had fallen on bad luck, perhaps even been shipwrecked and stranded upon the island. The adventurers had experienced even worse luck when they’d chosen to make camp near a tomb spider’s lair. Ghaji felt confident those hapless adventurers had been taken by the giant arachnid, impregnated with her eggs, and transformed into the web mummies the companions had encountered in the crypt. Poor devils.

They kept silent vigil while Asenka’s body was reduced to bones, and when the fire died out, they buried her remains on the site of the pyre. Solus used the last dregs of his psionic energy to levitate a rock from the hillside and onto the grave to serve as a marker. The psiforged apologized for not having enough energy to chisel words into the stone, but Diran told him it didn’t matter. Asenka’s soul had joined with the Flame, and she was beyond the need for words now.

And then Diran turned and walked away from Asenka’s grave, and one by one the companions followed. Of them all, only Diran never glanced back. Not once.

It was noon by the time the companions reached the
Turnabout
. They all took turns rowing since Solus could no longer use his psionic abilities to power the craft. And it was another hour after that before the
elemental galleon set sail for the island of Greentarn, where Regalport was located. The trip would take a day and a half, though Hinto, who volunteered to serve as first mate in Thokk’s absence, promised that he’d do everything he could to motivate the crew to squeeze as much speed as possible out of the ship. Onu, wearing his guise as a human sea captain, accompanied the halfling, speaking good-naturedly with the
Turnabout’s
sailors and offering them words of encouragement. Hinto wasn’t as harsh as taskmaster as Thokk had been, but Ghaji thought the crew responded better to the halfling for he seemed more like one of them than the dwarf ever had. Ghaji had no idea what would happen to the ship with Thokk’s death. The dwarf had been the vessel’s owner and true captain, but none of the crew knew that. As far as they were concerned, the ship belonged to Onu. Ghaji supposed she did now, at least until any of Thokk’s heirs could be notified. The changeling might be a good actor, but he was a lousy seaman, and the half-orc didn’t see how Onu could make a go of commanding the
Turnabout
on his own. But that would be something for the changeling to worry about in the future. Right now, all Onu and Hinto had to do was keep the crew working hard until the ship reached the island of Regalport.

All during the first day back at sea, Diran stood at the ship’s prow, face expressionless, blue eyes fixed on the horizon, speaking only when spoken to, and even then only responding in one or two word phrases. Ghaji tried to get his friend to open up several times, but without any success. The half-orc asked Solus if he could speak to Diran, hoping the psiforged might be able to somehow employ his mental powers to reach the priest. But Solus demurred, saying that Diran’s desire for solitude was obvious, even to one bereft of psionic abilities. Ghaji didn’t bother asking Yvka to speak with Diran. The elf-woman had been avoiding Ghaji ever since their return to the ship, as if she sensed he was upset about keeping her dragonmark secret from him and wished to avoid discussing the subject as long as possible. Tresslar was no good, either. The artificer was holed up in his cabin, working. Tresslar had recovered several magical artifacts from Paganus’s hoard that Nathifa hadn’t had time to drain the power from, and the artificer was attempting to adapt their mystic energy in order to repair Ghaji’s elemental axe.

That left only one person for Ghaji to turn to: Leontis.

Reluctantly, Ghaji went to the priest’s cabin and knocked on the door. A moment later, Leontis answered.

“What is it, Ghaji?”

Leontis’s hair and beard had grown back, and despite all the injuries he’d suffered, the man looked healthy and strong. He had on a new set of clothes, a simple white tunic, leather belt, brown trousers, and black boots he’d borrowed from Onu. It turned out the changeling had a wide variety of clothing—for both men and women—in numerous sizes to accommodate whatever masquerade he might be called upon to perform, and these clothes were the closest to a perfect fit for the priest.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for what I did back on Trebaz Sinara … you know, when I split your head open.”

Leontis smiled faintly. “No need to apologize. I have no memory of it.” The priest’s smile fell away. “My only regret is that your weapon wasn’t forged from silver.”

Leontis’s words took Ghaji by surprise. “You
want
to die?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t you if you were in my place? That’s why I sought out Diran: to ask him to kill me.”

“Diran talked you out of it.”

A ghost of Leontis’s smile returned. “He always
was
persuasive. And he believes that I have some role to play in the events to come.”

“You sound doubtful.”

“The visions of the future Diran saw were given to him by a demon desperate to remain on our plane and thus cannot be trusted. But even if the visions are true, I cannot see how any good can come from the evil that taints my soul.”

Ghaji was beginning to see Leontis in a new light, and he felt his resentment and suspicion of the priest beginning to fade. “I once asked Diran how he could still use his assassin’s skills in the service of good. Can you guess what he told me?”

Leontis nodded. “That while Good and Evil are real forces in the world, it isn’t always easy for us to know which is truly which. It’s the sort of thing our teacher Tusya would’ve said.”

“I think it would be wise of you to try to remember that,” Ghaji
said. “I also think our mutual friend could use a reminder himself right now. I have a feeling it might mean more coming from you.”

Leontis hesitated. “I don’t know …”

“Maybe this is part of the reason you were destined to come along on this voyage,” Ghaji pointed out. “But forget destiny and visions. Diran’s hurting, and regardless of whatever else you may be, you are still a priest of the Silver Flame. Our friend needs healing.”

Leontis looked at Ghaji for several moments before finally nodding his acceptance of the half-orc’s words.