Power, Sendark thought, and soon I will have it all.
Already, his own forces had stolen the prize he sought from the forbidden Tower of Dragon-skull, and once they returned and he ferreted out its secrets, his own power would be increased. Added to that, Clavis had let him know that Mandel and Lenik had spelled themselves to the Isle of the Dead.
Their course of action dictated that the second fountain did exist, and Sendark's mind buzzed with the possibilities their discovery had brought him.
The fountains do hold the powers of gods, he thought. Now all I have to do is wait... and then take it from them.
"Lord Sendark."
The demoniac turned toward the voice. A fresh bowl of blood sat on the plotting table near the unused stern wheel and Sendark concentrated for a moment, then touched a finger to it.
Immediately, a small replica of a knight pushed himself to his feet and stood on the thick surface of the red fluid. The image bowed.
"Yes, Clavis," Sendark said.
"The siege is going well, my lord," Clavis replied in a deep voice. In life, Clavis had been a knight sworn to the Dark gods. When he had fallen three hundred years ago, Sendark had resurrected him, taking pains to see that he retained his skills as well as his mental abilities.
Sendark gazed down at the new zombies.
"I can see the fruits of our labors now, Clavis. You’ve done well."
"All our teams are in place, my lord. When the night comes, the city will shudder."
"Good," Sendark replied. "Where are you now?"
"Nearly to the island where Mandel and Lenik are. Your spell put our ships very close to it indeed."
"Excellent. And you know what you will tell them?"
"That you are concerned about their welfare." Sendark nodded.
"They will, of course, suspect that you are there to spy on them."
"Yes, my lord. But we shall endeavor to do so with the utmost circumspection. However, there is another matter I wish to speak to you about."
"Yes?" Sendark asked.
"During the battle last night, my lord, there was one warrior stronger than the rest. He was very strange and very powerful."
"What of it?"
"I believe he would be a great addition to our army." "His name is Praz-El."
Praz-El? Sendark thought, the name sounding familiar.
"A demoniac?"
"I'm not sure, my lord, but he would be a great asset to us. He killed nearly half my army single-handedly. And he is even now en route to the Isle of the Dead."
"He's pursuing Mandel and Lenik?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Then by all means," Sendark said with a smile, "make this great warrior yours. But make sure the rest of his crew doesn't interfere with my plans."
"Yes, my lord."
"Now," Sendark said, "report to me after you've spoken with Mandel and Lenik." "Of course."
The demoniac waved his hand over the bowl and the figure melted back into the sloshing crimson liquid.
Closing his eyes, Sendark concentrated, opening his mind and trying to connect with the power Mandel and Lenik had absorbed.
In less than a minute, he could feel the two of them to the north of his current position, their power so raw and unfettered.
Incredible, Sendark thought. He couldn't believe he could feel it from so far away, and he almost got giddy at the thought that they could barely contain the power they had now.
Give them the power to endure, the necromancer prayed. Let them live long enough at least to drink from the second fountain. Once they do that, I'll be ready to strike.
Talons clacked against the plotting table's surface and Sendark broke his connection to see Maven lapping at the blood in the bowl.
"Don't drink all of that," he snapped. "I don't want to go through the trouble of bringing another living being aboard this ship."
Maven glanced up at him with blood staining her child's mouth. "Have you seen any of our new army?"
"Only from here," Sendark said.
A curious smile twisted Maven's lips. Standing on her back talons, she cocked her head to the side, wiped the blood from her mouth, and licked her leg clean. "There are some interesting ones."
"I'll see them later," Sendark said.
"Please," Maven encouraged. "I've arranged a showing for you. See them now."
Knowing from experience that the tone in Maven's voice was a sure indication that the creature wouldn't give up, the demoniac shook his head, but agreed. He followed Maven down the stern steps to the lower deck, where a line of newly raised zombies stood.
"I think you'll be impressed," Maven cackled.
"At what?" Sendark asked.
Maven spread her wings and perched on a leaning mast.
"You've added more quality to your army than you might have thought." "Our first addition is Palomar, a noted Minotaur warrior who was spending his final years teaching gladiatorial combat at the Magistracy"
The Minotaur stood tall and fearsome, but his dark brown hide showed the pallid gray of death. The huge wound in his head that had ended his life gaped obscenely, showing brain matter and splintered bone.
"I've learned from questioning other new arrivals," Maven said, "that Palomar was feared throughout all of Soronne and the Six Shards, and he trained many of the Guards in the Towers."
Sendark grinned cruelly "Then tonight their mentor begins stalking them."
"Next is Rifflin," Maven went on.
Sendark surveyed the lank female goblin standing in the shadows created by the huge Minotaur. The dead goblin wore dark clothing that no longer quite covered a curious vest filled with pockets.
"Rifflin was a thief," Maven said. "She taught in the Towers as well, but there is a price on her head in several other countries for espionage and outright theft."
"A spy?" Sendark asked. "A spy is a rich prize indeed."
"I know," Maven agreed. She moved through another half-dozen zombies, all of them powerful figures within Soronne—warriors as well as mages who would be good additions to their effort.
"I have one last prize," Maven crowed, and a cold, calculating smile played on her dead child's face. She left her perch and spread her wings, sailing to the shoulder of a smaller zombie behind the Minotaur.
Sendark waited, knowing Maven intended to make a production of her latest find.
Folding her wings sedately, Maven leaned in close to the zombie's ear. "Step forward," she whispered.
The zombie didn't react at once, and the lack of response incensed Maven, drawing fierce curses from her.
"Step forward!" she shrieked again.
As if reluctant, which Sendark knew should not have been possible, the dead zombie stepped forward with Maven perched on his shoulder.
Curious, feeling trace elements of the power that had once been the zombie's to control, Sendark studied the dead man. He was an elf, but even as long-lived as that race was, this one had to have been near the end of his years.
"Who was he?" Sendark asked.
"This," Maven said, "is the greatest prize yet. He was a high-ranking wizard and one of the greatest leaders of Soronne. Be pleased, my lord, for I present to you Magistrate Bo."
20
“I think I'm going to be sick!”
Praz turned from the mist-shrouded expanse before him to Telop. The elf sat beside the railing and looked nearly as green as grass. He had never acquired his sea legs, or a real interest in sailing, but to Praz that only made his coming that much more noble. He didn't have many friends, so it was nice to know the ones he did have were real.
"Do you regret leaving Soronne?" Praz asked.
Telop hung his head over the side of the railing as another wave of the dry heaves shuddered through him. He drew in a long, ragged breath when the cycle finally finished. "I regretted leaving Soronne the moment I put foot on this damned ship."
Praz smiled and turned back to the Mist. Staring into nothing, he tried to understand all that had happened. He thought of Bo's death and leaving Mistress, and he wondered, as he often did, who he really was.
He knew he had parents. He had to. But why had they left him?
If it was true that he was being trained for a great purpose, then when would it end?
And how?
He looked down at his hands, remembering Bo's words, and Mistress's words, and even the soothsayer from the tavern.
Darkness, he thought. I'm tainted.
He thought of the letter. He'd been so happy to receive it, to believe he had some great destiny to look forward to. Now, he simply wanted to save Lissella and her father. That seemed easy. It was a goal—a task. Unlike his whole life, which seemed to be nothing more than a string of unconnected events that led him nowhere.
Praz glanced back to the south. Soronne was less than two hours in the past, but he could no longer see the city. He wondered if he'd ever see it again. Now, he had no reason to go back—no matter what happened.
"You're under careful scrutiny," said River, joining Praz at the railing.
"Do you think so?" Praz asked, his mind still far away.
"Alagar watches you constantly," River said. "As does Noleta and that strange warrior... what's his name?"
"Xarfax," Telop replied, still queasy.
"Yes," River said. "Him."
Praz glanced up at the stern castle where Alagar stood talking to Jarrell. The druid and the ship's captain stood near the plotting table and studied a secured map. But Praz knew the map wouldn't serve them very well. The waters that Crimson Raptor sailed in were no longer those of the Brass Sea. They were in the Sea of Mist.
"You're sure you've never met that man before?" Telop asked. "Maybe during one of those tavern-crawling nights we embarked on."
"No," Praz said.
"Maybe he's got you confused with someone else," Telop suggested. "Maybe."
Xarfax stood below the stern castle and made no bones about the fact that he watched Praz. He wore his patched-over armor clearly marked with the moon-axe sigils of D'Rebbik, one of the gods of war that served the Light. He wore his golden hair and beard long as did the rest of his warriors.
Followers of D'Rebbik concentrated more on worshipping and killing than they did on sartorial elegance, or even good hygiene, so the ship's warrior contingent stood out sharply against Crimson Raptor's crew.
The rest of the warriors were spread across the ship's decks. All of them remained alert, and most of them watched Praz carefully.
Praz didn't know where the animosity came from, although he had to admit to certain rancorous feelings any time he got too close to Xarfax. He wondered, strangely for the first time, if it had something to do with his past.
"I tell you," Telop complained, "if that guy keeps giving me grief about where I sit to throw up, I'm going to kick his ass."
"Right," River sneered. "Try it. The seasickness would be the least of your concerns."
"What?" Telop replied irritably. "I could take him."
Praz surveyed Xarfax, who simply stared back at him.
Telop couldn't believe his nerve.
"Where did they get that guy?" he whispered, as if afraid Xarfax would hear.
"Xarfax has served with Captain Jarrell on over forty missions," River said. "They've taken prize ships together, as well as tracked down pirates. If there's fighting to be done, there is no one Jarrell would rather sail with."
Praz and Telop both looked at her.
"How did you know that?" Telop asked.
River smiled and glanced over at the crew. "What can I say?" she asked seductively. "The Raptor sailors like to talk."
Telop slapped his head. "Praz gets the girls, you get the men... why do I even bother coming along?"
"Apparently he's a real fanatic," River went on. "And he loves to fight."
"Uh-oh," Telop said, straightening up as best he could, "trouble."
One of the larger warriors moved away from the group surrounding Xarfax. He advanced toward Praz with a swagger and a smug expression.
Praz ignored him. He'd seen the same behavior in bars all over Soronne, and he was in no mood to deal with it now.
Telop and River moved to intercept.
The warrior growled at them.
Without warning, a wave splashed over the ship's side and smashed into the warrior, catching him off balance as the ship pitched, and throwing him to the floor.
The rest of Xarfax's crew laughed out loud.
Angrily, the warrior got back to his feet.
"Damnable sea!" he cursed. "You can't trust these Mists, Xarfax!"
"It's the Old One," Xarfax replied. "Part of his senses have returned to him, but the madness is still upon him."
"What Old One?" River asked.
"The Old One who lives inside the Mist," Xarfax answered as if everyone should know that.
"I don't know about an Old One in the Mist," the young ranger said.
Immediately, a chorus of comments came from the warriors. Evidently, they were all familiar with the legend, and it immediately broke the strange tension between them and Praz.
"It's an old story," Xarfax said, stepping forward.
"I've been taught," he said, "that the Sea of Mist is the unsettled remnants of a dead god. One of the Old Ones who had no name at the beginning of time, even before the gods chose the paths of Light or Darkness. This god was driven insane by a Dark spell from an unknown enemy."
Praz listened to the story as he peered out at the coiling Mist. It sounded familiar, and he wondered if he had ever heard it before.
"After the god went insane," Xarfax went on, "the other gods had no problem killing him. When this had been done, they broke his bones and rended his flesh, intending to wipe him from the memory of the world."
"Only one world?" River scoffed.
Xarfax looked at her.
"As the powers of Light and Darkness fought over land and creatures, each tried to claim so much that they eventually shattered the true world into hundreds of thousands of others."
River smiled, content.
"Even though dead and in another form," Xarfax continued, "the insane god knew he never wanted the world fragmented. So he became a fog that would eventually be named the Sea of Mist. Still true to the dead god's dream, the Mist drifts from world to world, providing a bridge from one place to another, as it strives to pull all the worlds back into one again."
As if crying out in agreement with the story, a low and mournful howl erupted from the Mist. In a heartbeat, other tortured howls joined the first, most of them sounding far away, but others sounding so close it was as if they were right next to them.
River's eyes went wide. "Is that the Mist?"
"Stand ready!" Xarfax yelled, turning to his men. "Eyes to the Sea."
Praz woke from his reverie and turned out to sea, half expecting to see a boat filled with zombies bearing down on them out of the swirling Mist.
River stepped to the young warrior's right and drew two knives.
Alagar joined Xarfax at the railing.
"What is it?" Alagar asked.
"I'm not sure," Xarfax replied. "Can you see anything, Jarrell?"
From high in the stern, Jarrell was straining to look into the Mist like everyone else. "Nothing!" he yelled down.
"Praz," Telop called weakly. "Give me a hand."
Praz reached down and yanked the sick elf to his feet.
"Keep hanging your head over the railing," he said. "That pose should be a good one for the balladeers who sing about our battles later."
"Very funny," Telop said, trying to smile even as his stomach did backflips.
"Up in the sky!" one of the sailors cried out. "Look!"
Praz glanced up immediately and spotted the green fog that suddenly mixed into the Mist.
In the next instant, a flock of countless birds burst free of the green and raced straight toward the Crimson Raptor.
21
Clavis the Death Knight bowed low before Mandel. "I am Clavis," he said, "and I bring you greetings from Sendark."
He stood in the great hall wearing black and gold armor. His features were withered and old, the skin shrunken tightly to his skull and hands. As a result, his yellowed eyes bulged fiercely.
If Mandel had not been so much larger and filled with the power, he knew he would have feared the Death Knight. But, towering above him as he did, he was simply curious.
"Why would Sendark be interested in us?" Lenik demanded from behind.
"Yes," Mandel said, "our business with Sendark should be over."
Clavis bowed again.
"Lord Sendark is appreciative of your service at Soronne," he stated. "He only sent me to ask if there was anything you needed while you tried to enter the mountain containing the second fountain."
"And why would Lord Sendark divert even a moment from his siege to try and aid us with the second fountain?" Mandel asked, staring down at the small commander with Lenik behind him.
Clavis stared up at the master thief.
"You must ask Lord Sendark that yourself, sir. I was only told to make myself available in any way that might be necessary, including the location of this second fountain." He paused. "Lord Sendark also asked that I set up a patrol around the island."
"A patrol?" Lenik roared.
Mandel pushed him back and tried to remain calm.
"Why would he order you to protect us?" he asked, "when we're powerful enough now to protect ourselves?"
"Lord Sendark was unable to conquer Soronne as quickly as he'd anticipated. Because of that, he feels certain that your parts in Soronne's invasion—and the many deaths that followed—are now well known in the Six Shards."
Mandel and Lenik exchanged a knowing glance. Both of them were well aware of that, but what did Sendark really want?
"Lord Sendark also feels," Clavis went on, "that the Magistracy has chosen to send someone after you. Captain Jarrell helms Crimson Raptor even now and will arrive here in a matter of days."
"Jarrell?" Lenik repeated. "Are you sure?" Clavis nodded.
"It would be better if Jarrell was dead," Lenik muttered.
Mandel whipped around angrily. "What possible danger could Jarrell offer us now? We have enough power to destroy him and his ship. Stop worrying!"
"Maybe you should worry a bit more!" Lenik snapped.
A sudden stabbing pain lanced through Man-del's mind and black spots danced before his eyes. He swayed uncertainly for a moment, but caught himself.
Euphoria raked him savagely and unexpectedly, as it had been doing on and off since his trip into the fountain.
"Fahd?" Lenik called. "Are you all right?"
Mandel burst out laughing as the spots swam around him. He tried to calm down, and when he finally recovered, he glared at Lenik with tears in his eyes.
"Of course I'm all right," he said, as if nothing had happened. "Stop worrying."
Lenik said nothing, but his long mouth remained agape as he watched Mandel with disbelief.
"Too much wine," Mandel said, rubbing his eyes. The pain in his head started to subside, taking the feeling of euphoria with it. He glanced back at Clavis, who remained stiffly erect and blank-faced.
"What are you going to do with Jarrell and his ship?"
"Lord Sendark feels that Soronne's leaders have overexposed themselves," Clavis stated. "By your leave—"