who looked to be in his early twenties, and the other was a woman about ten years older. Both were bound like Makala, and both were dressed in black tunics fashioned from thin, light cloth. Makala couldn’t see how she was dressed, but from the feel of the cloth on her skin, she knew she wore a similar tunic. The other two candidates for sacrifice lay still, eyes closed, lost in Erdis Cai’s hypnotic trance, a trance from which neither of them would ever awaken.
Erdis Cai, Onkar, and Jarlain stood near the narrow walkway that stretched across the blood pool to the base of the dais. Jarlain smiled at Makala with smug satisfaction, her eyes gleaming in anticipation. Onkar glared at her, eyes burning with crimson fire as he cradled the stump where his right hand had once been. Makala didn’t know what had happened to Onkar, but whatever it had been, she hoped it had hurt.
Erdis Cai had no expression on his face. His features were as cold and impassive as those of a marble statue. The vampire lord cocked his head to the side as if listening to a voice only he could hear.
He looked up at the cavern roof, his gaze seeming to penetrate the stone and see far beyond it. He lowered his head and though his expression didn’t change, his voice held the merest hint of excitement as he said, “It’s time.”
He reached up to the crimson blood-drop symbol on his breastplate, grasped its edges, and plucked it free of the metal. As the Mark of Vol detached from the armor, a blade snicked out of the bottom and a handle jutted from the top. Erdis Cai wrapped his fingers around the handle and the Mark of Vol had become a sacrificial dagger.
The vampire lord stepped onto the walkway and began crossing the blood pool. The thick crimson liquid bubbled as if in excitement as he passed by.
Makala watched as her death drew closer.
“I don’t suppose Tresslar told you how to find the entrance to this secret passage,” Ghaji said as they ran through the outskirts of the goblin city.
“He gave me directions, but I don’t think we’ll need them,” Diran said.
Ghaji frowned. “Why not?”
In answer, Diran pointed to a section of cavern wall where Tresslar stood, dragonwand tucked beneath his tunic belt. The artificer had his hand pressed to the stone, and when he removed it, a semicircular door swung open.
“At least he didn’t have to kiss this one,” Ghaji said.
Tresslar must’ve heard them approaching, for her turned, a wary expression on his face, but when he saw who it was, he relaxed.
Diran and Ghaji came to a stop as they reached the open passageway.
“What are you doing here?” Ghaji asked.
“I don’t know,” Tresslar admitted. “I… I just had to come.”
Diran nodded to the open passageway. “This is it?”
“Yes. The catacombs lie at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Ghaji and I will go first,” Diran said. “Remember, whatever happens, Erdis Cai must not be allowed to gain control of those warriors.” With that, Diran headed down the winding stairs into darkness, Ghaji and Tresslar following close behind.
Waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs was a scene out of nightmare. The chamber was just as Tresslar had described it: recessed areas housing the upright corpses of the ancient hobgoblin warriors carved into the circular wall, blood pool in the center of the room, stone walkway and dais rising out of the crimson liquid. Four braziers of burning green fire illuminated the chamber with eerie light, and the blood in the pool-the sheer volume of it was staggering-roiled and swirled around the dais as if alive. Onkar and the raven-haired woman stood at the edge of the pool, gazing upon their master. Erdis Cai stood on the walkway next to the dais, holding in one hand a knife formed from the Mark of Vol, its blade dripping crimson. In his other hand, he held a young man upside down by the ankle. The youth’s throat had been slashed open and blood gushed from the wound, raining down to join the swirling mass of liquid in the pool. When the flow diminished to a trickle, Erdis Cai gave the youth’s body a shake, like a man determined to get the last few drops from a bottle of wine. Then with an ease that was horrible in its casualness, the vampire lord tossed the drained corpse to the other side of the chamber where it fell to the floor, joining the body of an older woman who’d already been bled.
Two of the final sacrifices had been completed. The last lay bound hand and foot atop the dais, still very much alive. Makala.
Though Diran wanted to call out her name, let her know that help had arrived at last, he didn’t waste time on talk. He drew one of his few remaining daggers from his cloak, a silver one that he had saved especially for Erdis Cai. The removal of the Mark of Vol from the vampire lord’s breastplate had left an open gap in his obsidian armor, an opening Diran was determined to exploit. He hurled the dagger, but just as the blade was about to strike its target, Erdis Cai deflected Diran’s dagger with his blood-smeared sacrificial knife. The silver dagger flew to the other side of the chamber, struck the stone wall, and fell to the ground.
The vampire lord smiled. “A gallant attempt, priest. You’re fast-for a mortal.”
Onkar snarled and started toward Diran. “I owe you for what you did to my hand, priest! I’m going to enjoy-”
The undead sailor never got to finish his sentence. Diran drew the silver arrowhead symbol of his order from his shirt pocket, and with a flick of his wrist, sent it spinning toward Onkar. The holy object wasn’t a dagger, but it was silver, and what’s more, it was consecrated in the name of the Silver Flame. The arrowhead flew into Onkar’s open mouth, and its sharp edges sank into the flesh in the back of his throat. The vampire let out a gurgling scream as smoke curled forth from his mouth, immediately followed by a gout of black blood. Onkar clawed at his throat with his remaining hand, tearing away chunks of his own flesh as he desperately sought to remove the holy object. Eyes wild with panic, the undead sailor flew toward the stairs, tendrils of smoke trailing from his mouth, and black blood spilling over his charred lips.
As Onkar rushed past them, Ghaji swung his flaming axe, but the vampire was moving so swiftly that all Ghaji managed to do was lop off his good arm. Onkar staggered under the blow as his severed arm flopped to the ground, but he kept going, now entirely bereft of hands. He gained the stairs and rapidly ascended them, howling in pain all the way.
Erdis Cai showed no reaction to his second-in-command’s agonized flight. He was too busy staring past Diran and Ghaji with a puzzled expression.
“That old man with you… he seems somewhat familiar to me,” the vampire lord said.
“That because I used to sail with you, Erdis.”
The undead explorer’s eyes widened in recognition. “Tresslar? Is that really you?”
“It is.”
Erdis Cai grinned in delight, and when he next spoke, his tone was warm and filled with affection. “By the Sovereigns, how you’ve changed! But then, it’s been quite some time since we saw each other last, eh, lad? Now I understand how the priest and the half-orc found their way here. They had you for a guide.”
“You’ve changed, too, Erdis,” Tresslar said sadly.
Erdis Cai’s grin relaxed and some of the former coldness crept back into his voice. “It’s a pity that you jumped ship when you did. You missed out on the greatest adventure of all.”
“What adventure?” Tresslar challenged. “Becoming a monster? Serving a goddess of evil?”
Erdis Cai’s smile disappeared and his voice was now devoid of emotion. “For an artificer, you always did display a surprising lack of imagination. I’ve become something more than human, Tresslar-something better. I found what I had been searching for all those long years that I sailed the world’s seas: something greater than myself to believe in.”
“Spare us your rationalizations,” Diran said. “You’re not more than human. You’re nothing but a dead shell that contains only faint traces of the man called Erdis Cai. You’re a vessel for Vol’s evil, nothing more.”
