instead of a spiritual nature didn't matter. In the end, poison was poison: the only question was how long it took to kill, and the dark spirit that shared Cathmore's body hadn't killed him yet.
'How much longer do you think you can go on, Cathmore?' Galharath asked.
Cathmore's reply was as cold as steel. 'As long as I must.' He continued in a softer tone, surprising himself by how weary he sounded. 'I'll leave you to your work. Keep me informed of your progress.'
Without waiting for the kalashtar's reaction, Cathmore turned and walked away from the crystalline sphere, his footsteps echoing in the cavern air. The mountain cave was huge, and as far as Cathmore could tell, completely natural. The ceiling was so high and the walls so far apart that the everbright light-poles stationed around the sphere couldn't illuminate the entire place. Galharath had told him that the cavern needed to be this large, that its shape and size-not to mention the mineral deposits within its stone-made it perfect for channeling and focusing psionic energy. That might be, Cathmore thought, but it still seemed like a waste of space to him.
He was halfway to the stairs that led to the facility's upper levels when he saw the dim form of Chagai coming toward him out of the cavern gloom. Cathmore's mouth wrinkled in distaste. While the orc made an effective servant, his attitude left a great deal to be desired. Cathmore wasn't particularly fond of the creatures. Oh, they could fight well enough and they were cunning, he'd give them that, but they possessed precious little stealth and even less self-control. Worse, they stank like a wet hound that had rolled back and forth over a dead animal carcass several dozen times.
Chagai stopped when he reached Cathmore and nodded once. It was as close as the orc mercenary would get to a sign of respect. 'I've laid in supplies for the next several days. Salted meat, fresh water. I've also checked all the levels and made certain they're secure. I'm going into Perhata for some other things. Fruits and vegetables, maybe some fish, and we're running low on wine. I'll bring back a few bottles.'
Cathmore didn't trust the orc to tell the difference between a fine wine and basilisk urine. 'There's no need to go into the city. We're getting by well enough on what you provide, Chagai, and the less any of us are seen outside Mount Luster, the better-at least until we get this facility operational.'
The orc scowled, but he didn't bare his teeth, so Cathmore knew that he wasn't angry, merely thinking. 'I'll be cautious. Perhata is a rough town where people know better than to ask too many questions. No one will pay any attention to a lone orc buying a few supplies.'
'Your… people aren't that common in the Principalities. You might draw more attention than you think. I prefer that you remain in the facility.'
Chagai's scowl deepened, and this time he bared his teeth. 'And I prefer to go.'
Cold anger gripped Cathmore. There had been a time when he wouldn't have had to associate with such a creature, let alone put up with one defying him.
You still have that vial of death-spores, reminded the dark spirit that shared his soul.
Cathmore struggled to control his anger, always a difficult task when the dark spirit goaded him. He thought of the facility, of the riches it would bring him once it was up and running again, but most of all, he thought of the revenge that would be his after he'd become the Lord of Mount Luster. He imagined the look on his dear half- brother's face when one of Cathmore's creations stalked into his bedchamber one night-after having penetrated the supposedly impregnable security of his manor home-just before the creature stopped his heart with but a single thought.
It was an image that Cathmore hoped to make reality sooner rather than later. It was a gentler death than Emon deserved, Cathmore supposed, but he preferred his kills to be clean and tidy. Poisons were so much more subtle and elegant than the garish brutality of the blade.
'I'm going now.'
Cathmore was startled out of his thoughts by Chagai's declaration. Without another word, the orc turned and began walking toward the stairs. The fury that Cathmore had worked to suppress flared bright and strong then, and he reached out and grabbed hold of Chagai's shoulder. He hadn't the strength to stop the orc, let alone turn him around, but the mere act of laying his hand upon Chagai's person was enough to make him halt.
The orc didn't turn to face Cathmore, but the emaciated old man could feel Chagai tremble with rage beneath his touch.
'I may work for you, but that does not give you the right to insult me,' the orc growled. 'Remove your hand or I will tear your arm from its socket.'
The death-spores… urged the dark spirit.
With his free hand, Cathmore reached into his doublet pocket and closed his skeletal fingers around the vial within, but before he could remove the spores, Galharath was suddenly standing next to them. Cathmore hadn't seen or heard the artificer cross the cavern to reach them, and he wondered if that was because he had been too caught up in his anger to notice, or because the kalashtar had used his psionic abilities to mask his approach.
'I'm tempted to let you two kill each other,' Galharath said, 'but then I wouldn't get paid. Take your hand away from the orc's shoulder, Cathmore… and Chagai, don't use the opportunity to spin around and attack.'
Cathmore took a deep breath, released it, then did as the kalashtar asked.
The orc turned slowly to face Galharath. 'I don't like having my mind read, artificer.'
The kalashtar laughed. 'I didn't need to pry into your thoughts to divine your intent. You are an orc, after all.'
Chagai's upper lip curled in irritation, but he didn't dispute Galharath's statement.
Cathmore decided to start over. 'I understand that you wish to go to Perhata, Chagai.'
'I am going,' the orc corrected.
Cathmore ignored the comment and continued. 'I doubt simply buying a few supplies could inspire such… determination on your part. Why not tell us the true reason for your trip?'
Chagai glanced back and forth between Cathmore and Galharath, and then let out a disgusted snort.
'When I was out hunting yesterday, I caught a familiar scent.'
The orc spoke for a while, and when he was finished, it was Galharath's turn to be angry.
'You spotted strangers snooping around the foothills, and you didn't bother to tell us?' The crystals affixed to the kalashtar's gloves began to pulse with smoldering light, as if responding to the strength of their wearer's emotion.
'Peace, Galharath,' Cathmore said, barely able to contain a sense of mounting excitement. 'I understand something about wishing to settle old grudges, and to that point, it would appear that our orc associate and I have something in common. Based on his description of the four men who entered the lich's lair, I believe that I also know one of them, though he was but a child when last I saw him. Still, I've made it my business to keep informed of his activities over the years, and I know that of late he's been traveling with a half-orc. I wonder if it truly is him…'
Cathmore trailed off in thought. As much as he wished to have revenge on Emon Gorsedd, he also had a score to settle with this man in black who traveled with a half-orc warrior.
'Who is this man?' Galharath asked.
'Diran Bastiaan,' Cathmore said. 'One of the finest assassins I helped train'-he paused-'and the only one who ever killed me.'
Enshrouded within the cavern's darkness, a large figure stood watching the three talk. He tried to understand their words, but it was so difficult for him to concentrate with the voices swirling around in his head like a multitude of leaves tossed about in a windstorm. The voices were always with him, shouting, whispering, screaming, but never silent. Never.
He wasn't concerned that the strangers would detect him, not even the kalashtar. The three had come to the Mount Luster weeks ago, and he'd been observing them ever since, and not once in all that time had any of them noticed him. Their eyes saw him, of course, the kalashtar's included, but their minds refused to acknowledge his presence-precisely as Solus wished it. He understood that they intended to repair the forge and activate it once more, but he was unclear on their reasons for doing so. Didn't they understand the dangers involved? Didn't they know what had happened the last time?
Solus knew. He was the only one left alive who did. And the voices, of course. They knew, and they never let him forget it, not for a single second.
He watched as the strangers finished their conversation and headed for the stairs. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he followed, his iron footsteps loud on the stone floor, yet still unheard.
