appeared. He gripped the scimitar in both hands and tried to summon the remaining strength from his body. He doubled up, curling in on himself, then swiped at the appendage that dangled him so easily. The heavy blade cleaved into the thing's arm, and Haarn felt it shiver all through his dangling body. A fine mist of yellow sap sprayed out, soaking into the druid's clothing. Before Haarn could strike again, the shambler whipped him around and slammed him into the ground like a wildcat shaking a rat. For an instant, the druid was submerged in one of the deep pools. He clawed at the mud with his free hand, slapping cold handfuls over his legs, hoping the lubrication would break the shambler's grip. Effortlessly, the shambler pulled him into the air again. Roaring blood filled Haarn's head, and he stared down at the large rocks that studded the marshlands. If he landed on one of those, his head would split open or his shoulder would be crushed. The shambler shivered again, and Haarn dared hope that the rampage of the carrion beetles had had more of an effect than he had at first supposed. Instead, the druid noticed that he could see through the shambler. The hole was almost large enough for a full-grown man to crawl through. None of the carrion beetles remained alive. There was no hope, but Haarn steeled himself to grip the scimitar again with both hands. He could not die, not without fighting. Frightened birds cried out from the treetops, creating a mad cacophony of screeches and whistles, then a voice Haarn knew-and sometimes feared-rang out from somewhere below.
Clad in fine robes that bore a hood to hide his features, which were further masked by an illusion spell to help him pass as human, Borran Kiosk strode the dockyards of Alagh?n with impunity. No one recognized him, but all assumed he was a rich merchant or perhaps even a lord come down out of Alagh?n or elsewhere in Turmish. The mohrg gazed out from under his cowl and smelled the blood of the living around him. He could almost taste their flesh. His thick purple tongue moved restlessly. One quick flick was all it would take, then the captains, crew, cargo handlers, and merchants would know he was among them. They would all run, fearing for their lives. The image was delicious. 'No,' Allis whispered. Borran Kiosk growled. They walked, arms touching, down the dockyards alongside a merchanter frigate called Mistress Talia that flew the colors of Sespech. 'If you reveal yourself here,' the werespider said, 'you will only get us both killed.' 'Perhaps not,' Borran Kiosk challenged. 'You will earn Malar's wrath. Better to earn his appreciation.' The threat grew thin on Borran Kiosk. He gazed along the docks. Even in late afternoon, Alagh?n labored to shift cargo and carry on trade. The harbor was filled with ships of all sizes, flying flags from lands all around the Sea of Fallen Stars. The ships lining the docks were unloaded first. Other ships at anchor in the harbor waited to be unloaded, but some of the smaller vessels-cogs and caravels that serviced coastal waters-off-loaded onto small boats that brought the cargo ashore. Boom arms brought cargo off in huge nets, and the sounds of boatswains' yells and curses to direct the teams pierced the conversations going on around them. Turmishan merchants, their heads covered in turbans and their beards cut square, dickered with ships' captains on the docks or led them to the dockyard taverns and inns where they could ply them with wine, women, and song. Fishermen still hawked their wares from carts, though not many were buying. The clatter of humanity, who were always moving and always noisy, rolled around Borran Kiosk. It was almost too much to bear. 'Take it up!' a man yelled from Mistress Talia's upper deck. 'She's all together now, she is!' A boom arm near Borran Kiosk shifted as sweaty, grunting men bore down on it. The freighter bobbed in the harbor as the load came off her deck. Water shifted and slapped against the freighter's barnacle-encrusted hull. 'She's clear!' the man above called out. A young bard sat on a stack of crates near the boardwalk and strummed her yarting. From the hesitant starts she made, Borran Kiosk surmised that the bard was composing. A smile that the mohrg couldn't show, since he lacked a face, dawned inside him as he heard the words.
'Borran Kiosk, Still reeking fresh from the grave, Faced down the Alagh?n Watch — At least, those who were brave. Heroes died that night, Eaten by the… by the flames Of the mohrg's evil wizardry. Borran Kiosk, just another of death's names.'
Borran Kiosk looked at Allis and said, 'They sing of me.' Allis nodded, but her gaze was on the merchanter. 'We are taking this ship?' Borran Kiosk asked, divining her interest. He hadn't sailed much, hadn't been aboard a ship since he'd been brought back from the grave, and only a few times when he'd worn flesh and blood. Nodding, the werespider said, 'I booked passage for us to Sespech.' 'I don't want to go to Sespech,' Borran Kiosk said, and he had no intention of doing so. 'We're not,' Allis said. 'That's where the ship is bound. The destination will change when we take over the ship.' She looked at him with her opal gaze and added, 'You have the power to turn men to you, to kill them and raise them again from the dead, and you have more power than that. The ship will be ours.' Borran Kiosk looked at the frigate with clearer understanding and some humor. Turning to face her, Borran Kiosk leaned in closely, so closely that she wouldn't be able to miss the fires that burned in his hollow eyes. 'Not ours,' he told her. 'Mine. They will be mine.' Nostrils flaring and color showing on her cheeks, Allis hesitated a moment, pride warred with fear. Fear won, he could see it in her eyes, and she nodded. 'As you say,' she said. Allis turned from him, giving her attention to the sailor standing at the boarding ramp. 'We have passage,' she said. 'Aye, ma'am,' the sailor replied. He was short and lean, his clothing heavily tarred against the elements. 'I'll be after havin' yer names, I will. To check against the ship's manifests the quartermaster keeps, ye see. Cap'n Ralant runs a tight ship, he does.' He looked up, placed his fingers in his teeth, and whistled. 'Hey! Vonnis!' One of the men aboard Mistress Talia turned and looked down. 'What do ye want, Durgel?' 'Two to ship aboard, sir,' Durgel responded. 'Awfully damned early, if you ask me,' the older man said, taking a stylus and ship's log from under his arm. 'We didn't ask you,' Allis said. Bristling, the sailor said, 'Don't go getting airs with me, woman.' Unleashing the anger that filled him, Borran Kiosk spoke and gestured. The sailor at the top of the gangplank grabbed his neck and dropped to his knees. His face reddened, and he couldn't breathe. 'Vonnis!' Durgel cried, racing up the gangplank. Allis turned to Borran Kiosk with an angry look. 'What are you doing?' the werespider asked. 'Getting us aboard,' Borran Kiosk replied, 'in a manner that will be more… tolerable.' He started up the gangplank as the first sailor tried to tend to the second. 'You will alert them,' Allis whispered, hesitating for an instant before she followed him up the gangplank. Borran Kiosk swept the ship's deck with his gaze. Durgel tried valiantly to help Vonnis, but the sailor wasn't even aware of the magical constriction the mohrg used. The other men around the dockyards kept to their work, and only a few curious stares came from Mistress Talia's crew. Drawing even with the two sailors as Durgel fought to hold Vonnis down while crying out for help, Borran Kiosk gazed down at the man he'd afflicted. 'Someone get a healer!' Durgel told one of the nearby crewmen. 'Ol' Vonnis is havin' himself an attack of some kind, he is!' Borran Kiosk spoke again, removing the constriction from around the quartermaster's neck. Vonnis gasped like a dog on a too-hot day. His eyes filled with fear as he gazed at Borran Kiosk. 'Ye did this?' Durgel demanded, rising and reaching for the skinning knife that hung at his hip. Before he could pull his knife, Allis had one of her own only an inch from his eye. Sunlight glinted on the razor-sharp edge. 'No,' she said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Durgel's hand froze, then the sailor slowly released the knife and took his hand way. 'I don't want no more trouble,' Durgel said. 'Don't want it at all.' 'Good,' Allis said. Borran Kiosk stared at the quartermaster, who had yet to draw a full breath. 'Don't ever treat me or the woman with me with such disrespect again,' the mohrg said. 'I… won't,' Vonnis gasped. The fear the quartermaster exuded was almost enough to make Borran Kiosk drunk with it. Killing the priests had been good, but they'd been schooled to control their emotions. The victims in the tavern had passed too quickly, and the men of the watch had been too far away. Everything the quartermaster felt radiated into the mohrg without filter. 'What's the meaning of this?' Borran Kiosk looked up from the frightened quartermaster to the old man standing on the upper deck. He wore dark robes and had a fierce gray beard that still held smudged traces of red. The sun and harsh elements of the sea had browned and wrinkled his face. Shaggy hair wafted in the breeze. 'We have paid for passage,' Allis said. Durgel helped Vonnis to his feet. The quartermaster continued to gasp and hack as he struggled to get his wind back. 'What does that have to do with your treatment of Vonnis?' the old man asked. Borran Kiosk felt the old man's magic. Tendrils of the unseen force pried and lifted at the spell of illusion the mohrg had woven over his own fleshless features. 'He was rude,' Allis said. 'He did not lay hands upon you,' the old man said. Borran Kiosk felt the unseen tendrils wither and die as his own spell rendered them useless. 'I would have killed him for that,' the mohrg said. 'I punished him for his rudeness.' 'Punishment such as that is better left to his captain,' the old man said. 'You come close to rudeness yourself,' Borran Kiosk
