But, Praz thought, at least I'll get some answers— finally—once and for all.
The thought only excited him further.
Bo passed the letter over but kept his fingers resting on it.
Praz placed his fingers on the other end and stared into his foster father's eyes.
"There's a map and a letter," Bo said. "It will show you where to go."
"Where?" Praz asked.
"ToMurlank."
Praz barely remembered the small island nation in the North Sea. The country's history and current situation was barely talked about in his studies, but it was supposed to be a cruel, inhospitable place. Some legends had it that Murlank was a stronghold of those who practiced the Dark Rites.
"What's there?" Praz asked, unsure of what to think.
"A school," Bo answered. "But I'm not sure what they teach. I've never been there, nor have I ever known anyone who was."
Praz leaned back.
"That's it?" he asked incredulously. "I'm to go to another school?" "There are worse things." Not to me!
He shook his head. "That can't be it. I've already learned enough."
"There's always more to learn," Bo said.
"What am I supposed to study?"
"Whatever they teach."
Praz looked at his foster father. "What could I possibly be taught there that I can't be taught here?"
Bo stared at him solemnly. "I really don't know," he whispered, "but I shudder to think."
7
Fahd Mandel sat on the floor of his apartment with his knees crossed, his arms resting lightly on his thighs. But even at rest, his thick goblin's physique didn't appear quite at rest. He looked more like a coiled spring, tightly compressed and awaiting release. Despite his goblin heritage and being one of the least favored of the humanoid races, there were some women who described him as cruelly handsome.
Patches of hair clung to his frog-green skin, and a thicker clump of short-cropped black hair covered his head. Despite their somewhat bulbous appearance, he had deeply penetrating eyes, with a mustache and short goatee covering his rounded chin.
Abandoned to the Magistracy by his prostitute mother as a child, Fahd Mandel had vague memories of his life before he'd started his first lessons there, but none of them were pleasant. He remembered yelling voices, the smack of someone being hit, the pain of being hit himself, and the pleasure of striking those smaller and weaker than him.
His advent into the Shadow Tower at the Magistracy was no surprise; the skills practiced there were his natural proclivities. What was a surprise was the fact that he had never risen beyond second-in-command, where he had been for eight years.
Mandel breathed out calmly and glanced over the seven points of the septagram he'd drawn on the floor in fine lines of black and red powders. Uncapping the vial he held in one hand, he poured oil over the lines of powder. The scent of rotting fungus filled the room, strong enough to lift him slightly from the physical world around him.
He spoke in the archaic language the scrying spell required. When he pointed at the powder lines, a spark leaped from his forefinger and ignited the oil. The flame raced around him, following the path.
The crushed herbs in the powder mixed in blue and gray fogs, intertwining constantly as they rose to the ceiling. In seconds, a wispy curtain separated him from the rest of the room.
Mandel inhaled the vapors and continued the spell. Light-headedness and a sense of well-being filled him. He felt the weight of his body and struggled to free himself of it.
Then, his astral form pushed up from his flesh and stood within the circle beside him.
His astral form inscribed a large oval in the air. Dark light flecked with gold dawned around it. It shimmered, then the interior of the oval filled with gleaming onyx. When Mandel finished the spell, the onyx flashed silver-blue and cleared to reveal the burning face of a demon.
"Sendark," Mandel greeted the grim visage.
"Ah, Fahd."
Sendark's demon lineage showed in his coal-blue skin and pointed ears. His eyes glowed the baleful yellow of a man rife with jaundice. His hair was long and white and was currently being blown by wind.
"Do join me." He smiled. "The Sea of Mist is losing its control of reality. I think you would enjoy it."
"I'm sure," Mandel lied. He hated the foul otherwhere that the demon existed on, a sea of mist that flowed between worlds and overlapped them for brief flickers of time.
Sendark extended one long, bony arm through the mystic portal and reached into Mandel's home.
Mandel grabbed the demon's hand and was pulled through.
When Sendark released him, Mandel stood on the surging stern deck of the largest ship he'd ever seen. It was fully three times as large as any of the trading ships that Mandel had been on, and it stank of dead men and blood.
Eternal fog covered the sea around the flagship of the demon lord's armada. In places, Mandel could see waves of storm-swept brackish-green water crashing back into the sea as still more water twisted up in frenetic, white-foamed spouts.
He knew the story of Sendark's armada well.
A hundred years ago, the flagship had been a pirate prize, until their three dozen ships were chased unknowing into the Sea of Mist.
The pirates survived their entry into the other-dimensional waters, and even thrived for a time. They hunted prey as they did before, striking from the eerie fog the Sea brought with it, then darting back once they had secured their prize.
Still, despite the size and skill of the crew, the pirates had lost members. Recruits had been difficult to find. Not even other pirates wanted to join their ranks. Then the small group of necromancers aboard took matters into their own hands, weaving terrible spells to bring back their dead shipmates as zombies.
Even undead, they served the crew.
Gradually, the pirate crew didn't merely take on treasures from other ships. They took on the dead as well. The necromancers used their dark forces to draw dead men back as zombies.
Strengthened, the pirates were able to take still more ships, tying them to the original one, and continued adding to the crew for years to come.
Mandel had no way of knowing how many ships had become part of the flotilla, but now it was literally a floating city-island adrift on the Sea of Mist. Sendark was now its leader, and he called his floating home Demero.
"You will need to leave tonight," Sendark said in a quiet voice that somehow carried over the moaning.
"Tonight?" Mandel replied incredulously. "But the time is much sooner than I'd expected."
"Is that a problem?" Sendark asked, watching his reaction.
Mandel leaned on the cold, wet railing and shook his head.
"No," he muttered. "It's just unexpected." He thought for a moment before speaking again.
"Ever since I found out I'd never be Magistrate of the Shadow Tower, I've cared nothing for the Magistracy or for Soronne. Kill them all, then raise them up again and let them rot in service aboard one of your ships."
Sendark grinned in appreciation. "You're a man after a demon's darkest heart."
Mandel turned to him.
"When will your troops arrive?"
"Early in the morning. Just after two."
"But why didn't you tell me the arrival time before now?"
"And ruin the surprise? Please, Fahd," Sendark whined, "give me more credit than that. If you and Lenik both mysteriously disappeared taking with you all the possessions you have only days before our attack, I think people would have been a bit suspicious, don't you?"
Mandel accepted that.
If he had known when the attack was coming, he would have been gone days ago.
"Yes," he said weakly, "I just wish there were more time."
Sendark's eyes narrowed.
"Why?" he asked.
"A mystery has come to light," Mandel replied, hoping Sendark's knowledge could help. "Only a few months ago, Devlin Morely discovered a forgotten fountain beneath the Nexus of the Magistracy, the place where the Six Shards come together to form Soronne. At first, he was reluctant to discuss it with me, but as he was rejected time and again by the Magistrates, he found comfort in my curiosity."
"And what did you learn?"
"That the fountain had great powers to offer those who knew how to get them. Powers of the gods, Morely said. He thinks there are two that link together, but he's not sure where the other is."
"On the Isle of the Dead," Sendark stated quietly
As the moaning wind passed over them, Man-del gazed at the demon necromancer and suddenly felt that all the control he'd thought he had in their relationship had been only an illusion.
"How did you know that?" he whispered.
"Because this isn't the first time Soronne has been spied upon by a captain of this vessel," Sendark said. "The captain before me learned of those fountains over sixty years ago. In fact, I have a scroll that might be of interest." Sendark called to one of the zombies, who disappeared, then quickly reappeared with a captain's trunk across one shoulder.
The necromancer rummaged through the trunk and found what he was looking for. He handed a small rolled parchment to Mandel.
"What is this?" he asked.
"It is a scroll that once belonged to a book about the fountains. It is supposed to provide a key incantation."