sky opened up and rain poured down. It looked like the weather had taken a turn for the worse while he’d slept, but he was actually grateful for the storm since it had awakened him from that dream. He’d dreamed of hunting the swamp boar many times since that day, and he wished the storm had let loose a few minutes earlier so he might have awakened without having to relive his failure yet again.
He turned to Diran, but his friend was no longer sitting next to him. He looked over his shoulder, and by the soft blue-white glow of the ring-bound air elemental, he saw Diran and Yvka. They were talking to one another, both wearing the hoods of their cloaks up to keep off the rain. Ghaji shook his head. He didn’t understand why they bothered. It was just a little water.
A bolt of lightning cut the darkness, and for an instant night became day. The lightning was followed almost immediately by a thunderclap so loud that Ghaji’s eardrums rang as if his ears had just been boxed by a warforged.
Yvka shouted something, but Ghaji’s ears rang too loudly for him to hear her. He didn’t think she was asking him if he’d slept well, though.
The wind picked up strength and speed until it drove the rain sideways and sent it stinging into Ghaji’s skin like tiny daggers of ice. The thought of wearing his hood up in a storm no longer seemed so amusing, and Ghaji pulled the hood of his traveler’s cloak over his head and drew the fabric over his shoulders. The cloth had been treated to be water resistant, but that didn’t make it waterproof, especially in a storm of this intensity. Rain began to soak through immediately, but at least the cloak continued to provide some meager protection against the wind.
Speaking of the wind, it was now blowing so hard that the slate-gray water of the Lhazaar Sea was rising and dipping alarmingly, and spray was breaking over the Zephyr’s guardrails and onto the deck. Ghaji had no idea if the elemental sloop was built to withstand such a storm, but he figured it was time he found out. He started back to the pilot’s seat, doing his best to maintain his balance and ignore the nausea roiling in his stomach in response to the turbulent sea.
Another blinding lightning flash lit up the sky, and this time the accompanying thunder came so quickly it almost seemed to precede the lightning. Ghaji struggled to see past the glowing afterimages the lightning flash left in his eyes. He wasn’t sure, but it looked as if the blue-white glow of the elemental bound within the metal ring mounted behind Yvka was flickering like a flame in a high wind.
Ghaji reached the pilot’s seat. Yvka sat with her hands pressed tight against the chair arms, while Diran held onto the chair back, his head leaned close to the elf-woman’s so they could hear each other over the storm. Ghaji took hold of the chairback and squatted on the other side of the pilot’s seat. It seemed that Diran and Yvka were arguing about something, but even this close, Ghaji still had trouble hearing all their words through the howling wind and driving rain.
“…can make it!” Yvka shouted.
“Not if… any worse!” Diran shouted back.
“Soarwood… strong enough… mast will hold… and elemental can… to get us through!” Yvka replied.
Ghaji understood the gist of their argument now. Yvka wanted to weather the storm while Diran thought it was too dangerous and likely wanted to detour around it. Given how badly Diran wanted to rescue Makala and the other prisoners captured by the Black Fleet raiders, the situation had to be dire indeed for him to suggest taking anything other than the most direct route to Dreadhold.
Ghaji leaned his face closer to Yvka’s so she might hear him better. “Have you ever sailed the Zephyr through a storm this bad before?”
“Summer storms like this are common on the Lhazaar!” Yvka shouted. It was a strain, but Ghaji was able to make out all her words this time. “They blow themselves out within an hour or so!”
“That doesn’t answer my question. Have you ever been through a storm like this?”
Yvka didn’t respond right away. Ghaji couldn’t see her expression since her features were concealed by her hood.
“No,” she said at last, speaking so softly her voice was nearly carried away on the roaring wind. “I haven’t.”
“The storm moved in from the northeast!” Diran shouted. “Tack southwest! That should get us out of the worst of it!”
Before Yvka could respond, lightning flashed and thunder cracked once more. This time they could hear the sizzle of the lightning, and a charge ran through the air, making their hair, wet though it might be, stand on end.
“South it is!” Yvka shouted. “I’ll work the tiller and keep the elemental going! Diran, you and Ghaji go forward and trim the mainsail! We’ll be running with the wind at least partially at our backs, and the storm wind, together with that generated by the elemental, might be too much for the mast to bear!”
“Aye, Captain! No problem!” Ghaji said, though he had only the vaguest notion of what “trim” meant. He wasn’t about to admit to that Yvka; besides, he was sure Diran could show him.
Diran reached over and clapped Ghaji on the arm. “Come, my friend! Time to begin your sailor’s education!”
Ghaji scowled. He couldn’t see Yvka’s face hidden in the folds of her hood, but he had no doubt the elf-woman was grinning.
CHAPTER
Makala, free of her manacles, tried not to shiver as Onkar and Jarlain escorted her down a cold, dank corridor. She was chilled and she was frightened, but she’d been trained never to show the least sign of weakness to an enemy. She visualized standing on a beach in the bright noon sunshine, and it helped… a little, anyway. The hall was shrouded in gloom and shadow, the darkness relieved only by the occasional placement of torches that emitted a greenish light that did little to push back the darkness. Still, it was better than nothing, if only just.
She experienced an unexpected longing for the evil spirit that had once shared her soul. If their essences were still intertwined, she wouldn’t have to struggle to control her fear. The spirit had made her feel strong, confident, invulnerable.
The surfaces of the walls, ceiling, and floor were smooth and even, and every few dozen yards iron support beams had been erected to brace the tunnel. The corridor had obviously been carved into the interior of the cliff, and despite her current situation, Makala couldn’t help but be impressed at the time and effort such a feat of engineering must have required. It was worthy of the dwarf miners of the Mror Holds, though she doubted dwarves were responsible for the construction of this place. She’d seen no sign of a mining operation so far, let alone any dwarves. Besides, the ceiling was ten feet from the floor. Why would dwarves build a tunnel with so high a ceiling?
They passed wooden doors reinforced with bands of iron, though since all of the doors were closed, Makala had no idea what might lay in the chambers behind them. Considering what she knew of this place’s occupants, she didn’t think she wanted to know. The corridor was deserted for the most part, though occasionally they encountered others, mostly men and women with shaved heads like the Black Fleet raiders, though these were garbed in simple black robes. Once a pair of shaved heads were escorting a group of a half-dozen prisoners who were shackled at the wrist and ankles just as she had been. Makala guessed that they had been here for a while, for their clothing was torn, tattered, and caked with filth. Their hair was long and tangled, fingernails broken or chewed to the quick, and the men all had beards in varying stages of development. The prisoners were cadaverously thin, looking almost like living skeletons with only a thin layer of pale-white skin stretched over their bones. Their eyes were sunken into their sockets, the flesh around them so dark it looked bruised. Their necks, arms, and legs were dotted with puckered round scars, as if they had been tortured by having needle-sharp spikes driven into their flesh. Makala knew the skin of these poor people hadn’t been violated by metal but rather by teeth, hungry, thirsty teeth. Worst of all was the expression on their faces. Their features were slack, eyes half- lidded and devoid of the least sign of intelligence or awareness. It was as if their lifeforces-indeed, their very souls-had been bled out of them along with their bodily fluids. Was this the fate that awaited her, Zabeth and the
