Chagai rushed toward the ladder, and Ghaji followed, eager to wet his axe-blade in shifter blood, but before they could take more than a few steps, a male shifter wearing only a breech cloth stood up behind the loft's wooden railing. The shifter's fur was tinged with gray, but his muscles were still lean and strong. His full bestial aspect was upon him-face hirsute, features animalistic, fangs bared. The shifter held a bow with an arrow nocked, and his eyes blazed with fury as he lifted the weapon and aimed the shaft at Chagai's heart.
Ghaji didn't think. He hurled his axe at the shifter. The weapon flew upward, tumbling end over end, and the blade buried itself with a hollow thunk in the man's forehead. The shifter's eyes widened in surprise and he released his grip on the arrow. The shaft, regardless of any mystical properties it might have possessed, flew wild, missing Chagai entirely. Blood poured down the shifter's face, spattered onto his chest, but the wood-wright remained standing long enough to fix Ghaji with an accusing stare before the man's gaze dimmed and he pitched forward over the railing to fall with a dull thud on the dirt floor below.
Ghaji turned to Chagai, hoping to hear appreciation for the well-thrown strike that might very well have saved the orc leader's life, but a crash came from the roof of the cottage then, immediately followed by screams of terror. Ghaji knew what had happened: Murtt and Eggera had climbed onto the roof, torn through the thatch, and forced their way into the loft. Now they had begun their slaughter of the wood-wright's family.
Chagai leaped over the wood-wright's body, and rushed to the ladder, eager to join in the killing above. Ghaji hesitated only a second before following after Chagai. The walls of the loft were drenched with blood, as were Eggera and Murtt. They were practically covered from head to toe, as if they'd been bathing in gore. Chagai stood over the body of a female shifter lying on the loft's floor, her body nearly cut in two by his broadsword. Chagai's chest heaved with excitement, and his eyes were wild, those of a predator intoxicated by the thrill of bringing down its prey. There were four pallets in the loft, two of them small. Murtt and Eggera each stood over one of the small pallets, their swords slick with blood. Lying below them on the crimson-soaked bedding were the hacked-up remains of what had once been two shifter children, their bodies so mutilated that Ghaji couldn't even begin to guess their gender.
The female shifter-the children's mother, Ghaji supposed-lifted a trembling hand in the direction of her children, as if she still hoped to do something, anything to save them, or perhaps simply wanted to offer one last bit of motherly comfort to their departing souls. Chagai noted the movement and with a swift motion thrust his sword blade into the back of the woman's head. She shuddered once and then fell still.
Chagai then turned to Ghaji and gave him a wide grin. 'Good sport tonight, eh?'
Ghaji knew the camaraderie in the orc leader's tone was meant as both a compliment and a thank-you for his slaying of the wood-wright. Chagai was, for the very first time, treating Ghaji as if he were an equal. It was what Ghaji had wanted so long and worked so hard for, so why didn't it mean anything to him now?
He stared at the red wet chunks of meat that only a short time ago had been a pair of children sleeping peacefully in their beds. Then he forced himself to return Chagai's grin, though he feared it came out more like a grimace.
'Good sport.'
Ghaji felt a small elbow jab him in the ribs, and he looked down to see Hinto frowning at him.
'Unless you want your lady love to think you're losing interest in her, you'd best pay more attention, Greenie,' the halfling whispered.
Ghaji hated it when Hinto called him that, but he was so grateful to be pulled out of the memory of that awful night at the wood-wright's cottage that he nodded, took another sip of his bilge-water ale, and refocused his attention on Yvka. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't completely chase away the image of the mother's trembling hand, reaching out to her children one last time before she died.
Skarm thanked whatever dark powers watched over barghests that the elf-woman had gotten up from her table, taken up a position in a corner of the common room, and started juggling. Her companions-including the elderly artificer-were watching her with rapt attention, providing him with a perfect distraction. He'd been observing the elf-woman's act along with the rest of the audience, and he noted that her tricks had become increasingly more complex, and she performed them with increasing speed. He sensed that she was building toward the climax of her act, and once she reached it…
The elf-woman was currently juggling a quintet of spheres that appeared to be formed of solid light. She hurled all five toward the ceiling of the common room, and they merged together, forming a large light sculpture of a dragon in flight. The drake's eyes blazed and a glittering stream of what seemed to be diamonds poured forth from its open mouth. There were awed murmurs of appreciated from the audience as the diamonds swirled through the air, circling the room above the people's heads, the illusion so realistic that more than a few men and women reached up to try to snag a diamond for themselves. The light dragon then began to glow bright as a summer sun, and all in attendance were utterly transfixed by the sight, breathless with anticipation of what would happen next…
Now! Skarm thought, and made his move.
Hinto knew that Yvka was performing a trick, that the dragon wasn't real and couldn't hurt him, but that knowledge did nothing to prevent the feeling of panic that coiled tight within his belly and which threatened to spring free any instant. As the light dragon glowed more intensely, he averted his gaze and stared down at the surface of the table, gripping its wooden edge tight. He told himself to hold on, to ride the panic out. He'd spent his lifetime on the sea, and he'd learned how to weather storms before he could walk. And not just any storms-those on the Lhazaar were rougher and deadlier than anywhere else in all the vast oceans of Eberron. If he could survive the Lhazaar's fury, he should be able to withstand something as simple as his own fear.
Since his time shipwrecked in the Mire, fear was no longer so simple for Hinto. Intense, overwhelming, paralyzing… it grabbed hold of him with ice-cold hands and crushed him in its grip, reducing him to a quivering mass of terror. He knew his friends understood-even Ghaji, who pretended to be gruff and unfriendly much of the time- and while Hinto appreciated their understanding, he didn't want them to pity him, and he didn't want his fear- attacks to cause him to let them down when they needed him, like yesterday in the lich's lair, the latest in a string of similar incidences over the last several months. So far, his panic and resultant inability to act hadn't caused injury or death to any of his friends, but Hinto feared that it was only a matter of time before it did. He had to get control of himself, had to learn to master his fear-not just for himself but for his friends.
Hinto was not looking at Yvka's light dragon when a cloaked and hooded goblin crept up next to Tresslar and snatched the artificer's dragonwand from under his belt. As soon as the goblin had the wand in hand, he dashed for the door.
Hinto cried out, 'Tresslar, your wand!' and leaped out of his seat in pursuit of the thief. A lifetime at sea had kept Hinto strong and lean. He weaved between tables and chairs-sometimes ducking under tabletops if necessary-and caught hold of the goblin's cloak before the thief could reach the door.
Hinto spun the goblin around and took hold of his shoulders with a firm grip to make sure he didn't try to run again. 'Here, now, what do you think-'
Hinto broke off as he saw the goblin's scarred visage, the eyes that blazed with orange fire, the mouthful of teeth far sharper than any ordinary goblin's should be. The halfling felt a sudden cold fluttering in his stomach and in his mind he saw tentacles rising out of the sea, swaying slowly in the darkness as they cast about in search of prey. The tentacles ended in tiny mouths that opened and closed hungrily…
Hinto let out a soft cry and released his hold on the goblin. He staggered back, his entire body shaking, his knees gone weak as water. His head swam, the world titled, and he collapsed to the earthen floor and shook like a leaf caught in a gale-force wind. He struggled to regain control of his body, but it was no good. His fear held him completely in thrall, and all he could do was watch in despair and shame as the goblin-or whatever it was-made for the door.
He's going to get away with Tresslar's wand, and it's all my fault!
Just as the goblin's hand-a hand that was now clawed and covered with gray fur-reached for the door handle, a small sphere came arcing from the far side of the common room. Yvka had hurled one of her juggling balls at the creature. The goblin looked up in time to see the smooth wooden sphere coming at him, and in reflex he lifted his free hand and caught the ball before it could strike him.
The goblin sneered. 'Is that the best you can-' Crackling tendrils of blue-white energy erupted from the ball, ran up his arm and covered his entire body. There was an acrid smell of burning fur, and the goblin let out an animalistic howl of pain. He dropped the dragonwand, but though he tried to let go of the lightning-ball, it seemed affixed to his hand, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake it loose.
