Looking up, his eyes looking haunted in his scorched and soot-stained face, Haarn shook his head.
'We've let it escape,' the elf said. 'We had our hands on it and could have prevented some of this madness, but we let it escape. There's only one place that thing would be headed.'
Ettrian swayed drunkenly as he balanced on his quarterstaff. Glancing to the east, he pointed with his chin.
'It could only have been called forth by Borran Kiosk,' Ettrian said, his voice growing weaker.
The name stirred more fear inside Druz. Even before the horror stories of the Taker spread over the Vilhon Reach there were stories of Borran Kiosk. The legend of the evil mohrg rang through every alehouse and tavern. When men gathered to tell stories of what might have been and what might be, Borran Kiosk's name was never far from their lips.
'Borran Kiosk is dead,' Druz said.
'Yes,' Ettrian agreed, 'and returned yet again. I was given word from the Elder Circle only this morning. Every druid who can answer has been called to Alagh?n to stand against the evil.' He paused. 'It looks like you might yet live to see a city as you've desired, Haarn.'
Druz listened to the exchange, noting the resentment in the elf druid's words despite his weakness and pain.
'No,' Haarn said. 'I told you I never wanted to see a city, never wanted to be-'
'There's a part of you that belongs to your mother, isn't there?' Ettrian challenged, then his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell.
Haarn raced to the elf druid's side.
Druz joined him and watched as Haarn pried at the burned armor covering Ettrian's mid-section. She was surprised at the anxiety flashing in Haarn's eyes.
Fresh blood spilled from the cracked and open blisters that had mottled the elf's lean frame. The stink of burned meat clogged Druz's nostrils. She put a hand over her mouth and nose.
Gently, Haarn moved the elf aside and reached for the cloak. The garment's magical nature was further revealed by the fact that it had taken little damage from the mystic bolt. Haarn reached into one of the pockets sewn into the inside of the cloak.
Even though she knew the cloak was magical, it still amazed Druz at the way the druid sank his arm into it up to his elbow. He searched frantically, and pulled a potion from the pocket. He held the glass bottle up and surveyed the pale blue liquid contained within. 'A healing potion?' Druz asked. She marveled at the bottle. Had it been kept in a regular pouch, it would surely have been shattered. Haarn broke the seal then reached down and cradled the elf. Tilting Ettrian's head back, Haarn struggled to pour the liquid into him. 'Open his mouth.' Grimly, Druz placed her hands on the wounded elf's face. Skin and flesh tore under even the slight pressure she put on him. She almost drew her hands back. 'I'm afraid I'm going to hurt him.' Haarn looked up at her and said, 'He's dying.' Druz had held men who'd died on battlefields, but none of them had been cooked the way the elf had. The exposed flesh on his arms cracked open in places. She couldn't help thinking that if she pulled at the meat it would fall off the bone. Steeling herself, she took shallow breaths and held the elf's head. Working cautiously and tenderly, Haarn pushed a finger against the elf's lower lip. The flesh split and bright red blood beaded over Ettrian's mouth and chin. 'Do it,' Druz said. Haarn pulled the lip farther down, causing flesh to tear at the corner and reveal the elf's crimson-stained teeth. Uncorking the potion bottle with his teeth, Haarn poured the blue-tinged liquid slowly into the elf's throat. For a moment, the healing potion only pooled in the elf's mouth. Then, with a convulsive swallow, Ettrian drank the liquid. Haarn waited patiently then poured more liquid into the elf's mouth. This time, the elf swallowed more quickly, showing signs of regaining strength. Though Druz hadn't believed it was possible, Ettrian drained the contents of the bottle. 'What now?' Druz asked. 'We wait,' Haarn answered in a hoarse voice. His eyes never left the unconscious elf. 'Is he a friend? Haarn hesitated then shook his head slowly and said, 'Ettrian is my father.'
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In the shadows of Mistress Talia's cargo hold, Barnaby waited to die. At least, he wanted to die a quicker death than the monsters that prowled the merchanter promised. The huge spider-shaped woman was the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen, but it was the dead man with the purple tongue that was the most lethal. Never in his twelve years of life had Barnaby ever given much thought to dying. Another scream echoed through the hold and Barnaby cringed even tighter into the narrow space. He was small for his age, and often the butt of jokes for it, but this night he was glad of his small stature. If he hadn't been so small he would never have been able to fit between the crates. The screaming man stopped with an abruptness that left no doubt in Barnaby's mind that he was dead. The merchanter was only a day out from Alagh?n, headed south across the mouth of the Vilhon Reach. At least four men, two of whom had been on watch, had been lost during the first night. The captain had blamed the uncommonly rough seas and the storm winds that still racked the coast of Turmish. 'Hand me that damn lantern, I tell you!' Barnaby recognized Ridnow's voice, but not the fear that echoed within it. Ridnow was a seasoned sailor, a man who'd sailed the length and breadth of the Sea of Fallen Stars dozens of times, and he didn't scare easily. 'I said, give me that gods' damned lantern, boy, and ye had damn well best be quick about it.' 'Ye're gonna set fire to the ship,' a younger voice shrilled. 'Ain't ye got it through that thick knob of yers, boy? That there's Borran Kiosk an' he ain't here to take none of us back alive. It's yer choice whether ye dies like a man or ye end up spitted on that foul tongue of his.' Gathering his courage, knowing Ridnow and the younger man were close by, Barnaby peered around the corner of the crate. He stayed so close to the crate that the effort earned him a new splinter in his cheek. Lantern light threw dancing shadows against the walls of the cargo hold. Ridnow stood near a stand of wine barrels. He was a man of normal height but deep-chested and broad-shouldered. Clutching the lantern in one fist, Ridnow held a bloody, double-bitted dwarven battle-axe in the other. The younger man was Deich, a sailor Barnaby knew but not well. To see the fear so clearly etched on the sailor's face was disheartening. Tears came to Barnaby's eyes and he wiped them away with the back of one arm. 'There's going to be more of them, you know,' the young man said. 'Every one of us he slays rises up against the rest.' A crooked grin twisted Ridnow's lips. 'Well, that damned corpse ain't killed us yet, Deich. Ye an' me, we still got a chance to be heroes.' 'I don't want to be a hero,' Deich said. 'I just want to get off this ship alive.' Thunder rumbled outside the ship and Mistress Talia heeled over hard to port. Deich stumbled and almost fell but caught himself against the line of crates that Barnaby hid behind. Another man screamed, this one closer. 'They're coming for us now,' Deich said. He shifted, taking up a position to the left and behind Ridnow. The younger sailor's only weapon was a skinning knife. 'Aye,' Ridnow growled, 'won't be long now an' we'll see if them damned monsters bleed, too.' As Deich tried to stand firm and Ridnow made his preparations, Barnaby realized that an unaccustomed silence had descended inside the ship's hold. The roaring noise of the storm hadn't quieted, of course, nor the creaking protests of the merchanter as she still managed to dive and glide between the hills and valleys of the raging sea. There were no more screams. 'C'mon then, ye great gout o' black air an' pestilence!' Ridnow challenged. 'C'mon an' see if'n ye got the guts what's needed to take the life of a true fightin' man!' Barnaby glanced around the crate. There, at the other end of the cargo hold, stood Borran Kiosk. The light from Ridnow's waving lantern illuminated the skeletal figure, highlighting the naked bone. 'I killed your captain, your ship's mage, and the rest of your crew,' Borran Kiosk said. The purple tongue flipped out of the grinning jaws and flicked the air. Tears leaked down Barnaby's face, but he didn't know how he could be crying without knowing it. Pain knotted his guts. 'Mayhap ye have,' Ridnow acknowledged, 'but ye ain't finished with ol' Talia yet, an' she ain't proper finished with ye.' Borran Kiosk started forward. Barnaby saw no undue haste in the monster's movements, but his thoughts were immediately drawn to the unseen spider-woman. Where was she? Borran Kiosk came on as if unconcerned about the dwarven battle-axe the sailor held. Movement high above the cargo, trapped for a moment in the dulled glow of the lantern Ridnow held, captured Barnaby's attention. He glanced up just in time to spot the spider-woman scuttling across the beams above. She had an insect's head with only vaguely human features. He didn't know how he'd ever thought her beautiful when he'd first laid eyes on her. He thought only briefly of calling out a warning to Ridnow and Deich, but he knew it wouldn't be enough to save them. Ridnow and Deich were going to die. It was better not to die with them. The spider-woman dropped, sliding along a length of gossamer. Her fat body fell over Deich and her eight legs wrapped tight around him. Deich screamed but only once. Horrified, Barnaby watched as the spider-woman
