''I am… Paganus.'
The dragon's eye closed then, and a last rattling breath escaped its scaly lips. After nearly three millennia-if the beast had been telling the truth-death had finally claimed it.'
Tresslar fell silent after that and gazed out upon the sea. Asenka looked at the dragonhead-the Amahau-with newfound awe.
'What happened after that?' she asked.
Tresslar didn't respond right away, and she thought he hadn't heard her or that perhaps he had and merely intended to ignore her question, but then the artificer spoke once more.
'We left. I took the dragonhead, since as ship's artificer I was best equipped to handle it, and we made our way back to the Seastar. The return journey wasn't without its difficulties… after all, it was Trebaz Sinara, but all of us made it to the ship more or less intact, and we set sail. I began experimenting with the Amahau to learn its capabilities, and eventually I discovered how to use it to absorb and store magic. I affixed it to the end of this wand, and that's the end of the story.'
Asenka very much doubted that last statement, but she sensed Tresslar didn't want to speak more about Erdis Cai or the crew of the Seastar, so she decided to ask something else. 'Did you ever learn anything about the Amahau's origins or what the wounded dragon was doing hiding in the cavern for so long?'
Tresslar shook his head. 'To be honest, I was never much of a scholar, but after Erdis and the rest of the crew… retired, I ended up working on Dreadhold. Because so many of the criminals incarcerated on Dreadhold possessed mystical abilities to one degree or another, the prison had a rather extensive research library for the artificers' use. From time to time I would visit the library to see what I could find about the Amahau or about a green dragon named Paganus, but I found only the most oblique references and very few of those. To this day, more than forty years later, I don't know where the Amahau came from or the full extent of its power.'
Asenka gazed upon the golden dragonhead, its ruby eyes and crystalline teeth, and realized she was in the presence of a great mystery. After a time, she said, 'Maybe it's better that you don't know more than you do.'
'I've often thought the same,' Tresslar replied.
They both fell silent after that and stood at the railing, side by side, watching the waves as the Zephyr sped across the water toward Perhata.
Inside the obsidian sarcophagus, Makala lay in darkness. The coffin's power insulated her from the effects of sea travel, so much so that she had no awareness that the ship was even moving. She wasn't asleep, at least not in the way that mortals understood the term. Just as vampires existed in a shadowy nether region between the worlds of the dead and the living, when resting, they hovered in a state between awareness and unconsciousness. The closest mortals could come to this experience was the delirium that accompanied a dangerously high fever. Makala's mind drifted in this ethereal twilight, images and sensations coming unbidden and leaving only distorted, fragmented memories of their visit upon departing.
Her reunion with Diran dominated her thoughts. The images that paraded through her mind were mostly of him, but at the extreme edge of her semi-awareness a voice whispered to her, as it had every day since she had been transformed into a vampire by Onkar, Erdis Cai's first mate. When she awakened, she would have no memory of this voice-she never did-but she would be changed a bit more by the dark words it spoke.
Makala… blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh… Soon you will be ready. Soon you will be worthy. Soon we shall be one…
And then the voice-feminine, cruel, and so very, very cold-laughed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Diran stood at the Zephyr's bow as the elemental sloop approached Perhata. His lips were dry, the skin hard and cracked, and his cheeks were red-raw from windburn. He could've easily healed himself, but he didn't bother. He had long ago gotten used to ignoring pain.
'You should do something about those lips before they start bleeding. You don't want to be more of a temptation to our slumbering beauty than you already are.'
Diran replied to Ghaji without turning to look at him. 'I'm not in the mood for jokes.'
'Since when has that ever stopped me?' The half-orc stepped up next to Diran and leaned forward onto the railing. 'Sorry if my attempt at humor fell flat. It's the orcish way to try and cheer up a companion by provoking him.'
Diran's cracked lips did their best to form a smile. 'What's the companion supposed to do in response?'
'There are several acceptable responses, but the most common is to kill the idiot who's dumb enough to provoke an upset orc.'
Diran couldn't stop himself from laughing.
Ghaji smiled. 'From your reaction, can I assume you're not going to kill me?'
'Maybe later,' Diran said.
It was late afternoon, and though the sky was clear and the sun shone bright, the air remained cold as ever. Ships of various types-two and three-masted merchant vessels, fishing boats, and small, sleek pleasure craft-plied the waters around Perhata as their owners went about their business. The wind rushing over Diran's face began to die down, and he realized the Zephyr was slowing. He glanced back and saw that the sails weren't as full as they had been a moment ago, and he knew that Yvka had commanded the wind elemental to decrease its output so that they could approach the dock at a safe speed.
'How are you?' Ghaji asked.
Diran faced forward once more. 'Ever since that awful night in Grimwall, I've tried to imagine what it would be like to see Makala again… how I would feel…' He shook his head. 'I didn't even come close.'
'How do you feel?'
'As if I've betrayed her. I never should have let her go the night she was changed. I was too weak to do what had to be done.'
'You loved her, Diran,' Ghaji said. 'Still do, unless I miss my guess. That's not a weakness.'
'I am one of the Purified, and I swore an oath to fight evil in whatever from it might take.' Diran paused. 'Even if that form is my love for Makala.'
'I don't understand.'
Diran turned to look at Ghaji. 'If I truly loved Makala, I never would've allowed the corruption of undeath to take hold in her. I would've slain her the moment I knew her transformation was inevitable. By allowing her to continue existing as a vampire, I've condemned her to something far worse than natural death. She might seem to be the same person now, but eventually her spirit will succumb to the darkness that dwells within her and she will be lost.'
'Makala's as strong-willed a person as I've ever met,' Ghaji said. 'If anyone can resist becoming a monster, it's her.'
'That's what I've tried to tell myself these last few months,' Diran said, 'but think of Erdis Cai. The man was a legendary adventurer who faced numerous perils and always managed to survive them one way or another. He had a strong spirit too, but that didn't prevent him from being consumed by evil after his transformation into a vampire.'
'That's different. Erdis Cai wasn't simply bitten on the neck by another vampire. He was changed by Vol herself. No mortal can resist her power.'
'But that's just it, don't you see? Onkar was Erdis Cai's first mate, and he was transformed by Vol at the same time Cai was. Onkar changed Makala, which means she's also infected with Vol's darkness, and as you said, no mortal can resist her power.' He glanced over his shoulder, and though he couldn't see Makala's obsidian sarcophagus from where he stood, he nevertheless sensed its foul presence. 'At least, not forever.'
'If you truly believe that, then why don't you walk aft, open the coffin's lid, and expose Makala to the light of the sun? You wouldn't be killing her; you'd be setting her free.'
Diran knew his friend was right. He also knew that he couldn't do it.
'I told you-because I'm weak.'
'No, because you're human.' Ghaji put his hand on Diran's shoulder. 'No offense intended.'
