ritual.
'Blood calls blood, Vandor Grizt,' murmured Stel.
'Surely, my blood is so tainted by lesser lines that it would hardly be worth anything to you!' Vandor squirmed desperately.
The draconians seemed to find this statement amusing. Stel shook his masked head, touched the glowing skull.
'Your blood has already proven itself. For you, that means a reward. When the time comes, I will kill you in as swift and painless a fashion as I can.'
Vandor did not thank him for his kindness.
Stel raised his dagger high and intoned, 'Great Sea Queen, you who guide us now, without whom this deed could not be done, I humbly ask in the name of my lord Chemosh for this boon…'
Vandor Grizt heard nothing else. His eyes could not leave the dagger.
The blade came down.
Vandor flinched and cried out in pain, but in what seemed a reenactment of the first ritual, the cleric of Chemosh pricked the skin of Vandor's arm and reopened the long wound. Vandor gasped in relief.
Blood dripped into the altar. Stel muttered something.
At first, Vandor neither felt nor heard anything out of the ordinary. Then, slowly, every hair on his head came to life. A deep, inexplicable sense of horror gripped him. Someone was speaking his name from beyond the minotaur ship!
'Come!' Stel hissed. 'Blood calls!'
Vandor trembled. The draconians dug their claws into his arms. The minotaurs, who generally grumbled at everything, paused at what they were doing and watched and waited silently.
The waters around the Tauron stirred. Something was rising to the surface.
Shinare? Vandor Grizt prayed frantically.
'Answer them!' Prefect Stel hissed again, beckoning. 'You cannot resist the blood!'
To Vandor's dismay, he saw a ghostly, helmed head rising above the rail. 'B-blessed Shinare! I implore you! I will honor you twice… no!.. four times a day!'
'Stop babbling, human!' snarled the nervous sivak. Then, it, too, saw the monstrosity trying to climb aboard. 'Prefect Stel! Look to your right!'
Turning, Stel sighted the walking corpse. 'Aaah! At last! At last!'
Much of the visage was hidden by the rusting helm, but two empty eye sockets glared out. The armor that it wore was loose and clanked together. The undead being floated onto the deck. From the waist down, its legs were obscured by a chill mist.
Stel eyed the breastplate. 'The insignia of the house guard of the Kingpriest!' He looked up into the ungodly countenance. 'A royal cousin, perhaps?'
Vandor Grizt's ancestor did not respond.
'Prefect Stel!' hissed the draconian again.
Another form, clad in what had probably been a shroud, rose almost next to Vandor Grizt. He thought he saw a crown beneath the shroud, but he could not be certain. He had no desire to take a closer look.
'Better and better…'
A third spectral figure joined the other two. The cleric fairly rubbed his hands in glee. 'I had hoped for one, perhaps TWO after so long, but thr — four!'
Four it was — for the space of a single breath. Then, two more rose from the water. They seemed less substantial than the others; Vandor wondered if that meant they had been dead longer.
Stel glanced heavenward, then at his captive. 'There is the answer to your protests, Vandor Grizt. Your blood runs truer than you — than I — thought.'
The dark cleric looked at the night sky. The clouds were thickening and the winds were rising. 'Time is limited! We must not try the Sea Queen's admirable patience!'
Holding the dagger before him, Stel summoned forth the undead that had been first to appear. With his other hand, the cleric removed the tiny skull on the chain and handed it to Vandor's ancestor. 'You are mine. You know what I desire, do you not?'
The helm rattled as the ghost slowly nodded.
Vandor Grizt found himself sympathetic to his ancestors. It was not right that they be used as menial servants. Perhaps, he thought desperately, if blood truly called to blood, he could send them back to their rest.
'Don't listen to him!' Vandor shouted. 'Go! Go back.' His cries were cut off as one draconian put a scaly hand over his mouth and the other twisted his arm painfully.
It all proved to be for nothing. His shambling ancestors paid no attention to him, but listened obediently to the masked cleric who had summoned them.
'Make haste, then,' Stel continued, ignoring his prisoner's outburst. 'The talisman will guide you. Bring what you can, but most important, bring the Pendant of Chemosh! Its image is burned into the device I gave you. You cannot help but be drawn to it, no matter how deep it be buried!'
The six spectral figures floated from the ship… and sank into the murky depths.
I'm finished! Vandor thought. There was nothing he could do but wait until Prefect Stel sacrificed him. He morbidly wondered which god was going to get him, Chemosh or the Sea Queen. Chemosh, surely, for Stel had already given up a great deal to the Sea Queen.
'Great Chemosh, magnificent Zeboim,' Vandor muttered, 'do either of you really want someone as insignificant and unworthy as I? Surely a nice draconian would do better!'
Captain Kruug had finally regained enough nerve to rejoin the priest. The minotaur even dared peer over the rail after the undead. 'By the Mistress's Eyes! I've never seen such before!'
Stel smiled. 'Yes, the spell worked quite well.'
'As you say. How long will… will it be before they return?' The minotaur was clearly unnerved.
'You mean how long will it be until we can depart?'
Kruug glared at him, but finally nodded. 'Yes… how long? The skies grow darker. The clouds are gathering and the sea is beginning to stir. It never pays to overtax the good nature of the Sea Queen. She's known to change her mind, prefect.'
'It will not be long, captain. My servants do not face the barriers that stop the living. No matter how deeply sunken are the artifacts I seek, the undead will find them in short order. The talisman I gave them will further shorten their search. I, too, am trying to expedite things, you see.'
'Good.' Kruug straightened to his full height. 'I never thought I'd be saying it, but I look forward to dry land this night.' He thrust a thumb at Vandor Grizt. 'And what about that one?'
Stel's hand stroked the dagger. 'He is the last order of business. When we are about to depart, I will sacrifice him to Zeboim as a final gift.'
The draconians looked at each other and muttered. Vandor took his cue from them. He did some fast calculating. The nearest Temple of Chemosh had to be at least twenty days' journey from here…
'You give me to Zeboim, Master Stel? Not Chemosh? You should really give this some lengthy consideration 1 If I were the wondrous Chemosh, I would be offended at such shabby treatment!'
'Chemosh will understand. Chemosh is wise. Now cease your prattle; I know what I do.' But Stel looked uncertain. 'We invade her domain. We must make restitution.' Was he trying to convince himself?
The minotaur growled. 'It would not be good to retract a promise to the Sea Queen. She would be offended.'
'I had no intention of doing so,' Stel snapped. He pointed into the dark waters. 'There! You see?'
The draconians, curious, dragged their captive to the side with them, enabling Vandor to see much more than he wanted.
First one helmed head, then another appeared from the murky water. Slowly, as if constrained to obey the one who wielded power over them against their wishes, the ragged shapes rose. Each carried within its skeletal arms encrusted artifacts. Stel's reluctant servants bowed before the cleric of Chemosh and piled the various jewels, scroll cases, staves, and weapons on the deck at his feet.
Everyone else backed away from the ghastly minions, but Stel stepped forward eagerly to inspect his treasure. He picked up first one object, then another. His excitement swiftly changed to frustration.
