'What is it?' Kitiara cried.
'I don't know, but it's coming out of there. Let's go!'
They fled in such haste that they forgot the candle.
Through the sooty midnight of the aft hold they ran and stumbled up the stairs to the armory. Kitiara made for the rope locker. Sturm called her back. 'Help me with the hatch,' he said.
They wrestled the heavy hatch into place and dropped it.
Then it was through the rope locker and up the ladder to the captain's cabin. Kitiara dragged some heavy chests over to block the ladder well. Rain drummed on the poop deck above them, and wind whistled around the louvered shut ters. They stood close together in the dark, breathing hard and listening.
The deck trembled beneath their feet and they heard wood breaking. The thing, whatever it was, was smashing its way out.
'I lost my sword,' she said, deeply ashamed. She, a sea soned warrior, had lost her only weapon when she fell among the skeletons.
'It doesn't matter,' Sturm said. 'Swords didn't save the crew of this ship.'
'Thanks,' she said wryly. '- Some txt missing-'
Metal rang and rattled. 'It' was in the armory. Sturm flexed his damp hand around the handle of his sword. The uproar below got worse as the thing expended its anger on the store of weapons. From the crash and clang, it sounded like every item in the cache was being battered, twisted, and crushed. Then, abruptly, all the noise ceased.
Sturm and Kitiara, by some common impulse, drew clos er together. Their arms touched in the dark.
'Can you hear anything?' he whispered.
'Just you. Shh.' They strained to catch any stray sound.
The cabin door blew open with a bang. Rain poured in.
Sturm struggled to close the door against the press of wind.
By the greenish gray light that filtered in through the cyclone, he saw that the main hatch cover, forward of the mainmast, was blasted off.
'It's gone out on deck!' he shouted above the wind. 'It could be anywhere!'
'We'll have to close that hatch,' she said. 'Or the ship will flood, yes?' He nodded. Sturm felt exhausted. At that moment, he wondered what silliness the gnomes were up to, and fervently wished he was with them to see it.
'Ready?' said Kitiara. She threw the bolt back, and they plunged out onto the storm-swept deck.
They were soaked with sea water before they took two steps. The heel of the ship with the waves was more notice able on deck. Mountains of green water rose and fell and the horizon swung from below eye level to nearly the masthead.
Holding hands, Sturm and Kitiara staggered to the main mast. The hatch cover was not just thrown open; gaping rents were torn in it. Sturm lost his footing twice as foaming sea swept over him. Finally, on their knees, they managed to get the hatch back over its coaming.
High above the rumble of the churning sea, a shrill cackle reached them. Sturm looked left and right for the source of the sound; Kitiara looked up and down. She spied the thing clinging to the rigging high over their heads.
— s' It was a horrid-looking thing, ghastly white and gaunt.
Except for its abnormal size, it might have been a man, starved and sallow. But this creature was seven feet tall. Its protruding eyes were like red burning coals, and its hands were clawed with silver nails two inches long. The head was round and hairless, the ears tall and pointed. The creature threw back its head and howled, showing long yellow fangs and a pointed black tongue.
'Suffering gods! What is it?'
'I don't know. Look out!' The creature sprang from the rigging to the stays hanging from the foremast. It swung under the spar and flipped over until its feet were on top of the yard. There it howled at them again.
They backed cautiously across the wet deck, ignoring the lashing rain and pounding sea. Once inside the cabin, they slammed the door and bolted it.
Kitiara turned. A strange white glow filled the rear of the cabin. They were no longer alone there, either.
Chappter 34
Pyrthis's Tale
The cold white light collected into a human form six feet tall. Kitiara pointed her sadly bent dagger at the appari tion, but Sturm pushed the weapon down.
'In the name of Paladine and all the Gods of Good, depart in peace, spirit,' he said.
The cabin filled with a deep, long sigh. 'Would that I could depart,' said a low voice. 'For I am tired beyond mea sure and desire rest.'
'Who are you?' asked Kitiara.
'In life I was master of this vessel. My name is Pyrthis.'
'He doesn't seem dangerous,' Kitiara muttered to Sturm,
'but let's find a safer spot from that creature outside.'
'The Gharm will not enter this cabin,' the ghost said, 'as long as I am here.' Outside, the hellish thing shrieked, acknowledging the truth of the dead captain's words.
'What is the Gharm?' asked Sturm.
The indistinct figure drew closer and became more defined. Its legs did not move, and its arms stayed firmly by its sides. The ghost glided forward until Sturm and Kit could see deep, hollow eyes and a jaw that hung open, as slack as the face of a corpse. The voice issued from the mouth with out the lips moving at all.
'Once he was my friend, and then a curse laid us all low.
He became the Gharm, I, a walking spirit, and the crew of the Werival died in torment.'
'Spirits walk for two reasons: to right an unavenged wrong, and to give warning to the living. Which is it, Cap tain? Why do you remain on this mortal plane?' asked
Sturm.
Another mournful sigh. 'Know, my friends, that I bar gained with the forces of evil and lost.' The ghost came clos er still, enough for Kitiara to see its dead white eyes and corpse pallor.
'I was a merchant captain, bold and enterprising, who never turned down a cargo for money. I plied the Sirrion Sea and traded north and east to the Blood Sea maelstrom. In my time, I carried all goods — from spices to slaves.'
Sturm frowned. 'You trafficked in misery,' he said flatly.
'Aye, I did. Thank your gods that you still live and can make amends for any evil deeds you have committed! I am past saving now.'
The poop deck overhead resounded with the tramp of feet. Kitiara listened nervously as the Gharm stamped on the boards. 'What is that thing?' she demanded.
'Once my first mate and friend, Drott, who I trained in all the wily ways I knew. Our coffers grew fat and heavy with gold, and I grew satisfied, as men in their waning years are wont to do. But Drott was young and keen and always searching for the richest commission to be made. It was a fateful day when he fell in with the scaled warriors.'
Sturm had a glimmer of recognition. 'Do you mean dra conians'?' he asked.
'Aye, some have called them thus.' Pyrthis's ghost loomed over Sturm. Though seemingly benign, its presence was oppressive, and Sturm began to sweat.
'The dragonmen had a rich proposition: that we carry a shipment of weapons and money for them from Nordmaar to Coastlund, there to rendezvous with other dragonmen arriving from the northern seas. Drott accepted their com mission and their money, thus damning us all.' The ghost made a horrible rasping sound. 'I am so weary…' The dead man's left arm came loose from his shoulder and fell silently to the floor. Kitiara flinched at the sight, more from surprise than disgust. She bent to pick up the gently glowing limb, but her hand passed right through it.
'We loaded sixty hundredweight of arms, and weighed anchor for Coastlund. We had a fair wind and made a swift passage. On the way, Drott schemed and plotted. He drew me into his plan, which was this: Since the dragonmen were barbarians and invaders, why should we not hold them up for as much gold as we could? They
