rituals, spoke no magic words… As near as she could tell this warforged simply willed something to happen, and it did. Disrupt a magic-user's concentration, interrupt his rite, make him mispronounce his mystical phrases, take away or damage his artifacts of power, and you could fight him, but Asenka had no idea how to even begin to counter such power as the warforged possessed. But she knew who might.
Asenka hurried over to Diran. The priest had risen to a sitting position, eyes closed, hand gently pressed to his bruised throat. As she watched, the blue-black color faded as the skin on his neck regained its normal hue, and his windburned cheeks and chapped lips-the result of his standing at the prow of the Zephyr for so long-healed as well. She offered her hand, Diran took it, and she helped him to his feet.
'Are you hurt?' she asked.
Diran rubbed his throat. 'Not now. What of Ghaji?' Asenka gazed seaward, but she saw no sign of the half- orc. 'I don't know.'
Diran's eyes narrowed in an expression that she was coming to recognize as one of controlled anger. 'Stay with Tresslar and Hinto. I'm going to try and draw the warforged away from here.'
The crystalline-studded construct had finished extinguishing the flames, but now he stood swaying from side to side, staring off into the distance as if stunned or confused.
Asenka grabbed his arm. 'Wait!'
She pointed and Diran turned to see a squad of Sea Scorpions approaching at full speed from the shore end of the dock, a dozen men and women, all with weapons drawn and ready.
'Order them to back off!' Diran said. 'There's no way they can hope to stand against a creature this powerful!'
Intellectually, Asenka knew he was right. Emotionally, she was proud of the people in her command. They were the best warriors Perhata had to offer, the best in the entire Gulf of Ingjald, and she was reluctant to admit there was any threat they couldn't handle.
As if Diran's words had brought him back to reality, the warforged turned to face the oncoming warriors. He seemed to study them for a moment before raising his right arm and stretching his three-fingered hand toward them. At first nothing happened, but then the wooden planks of the dock began to shudder beneath the Sea Scorpions' feet, and the wood exploded upward as a vast geyser of water erupted into the air. Men and women shouted as they were flung about like so many rag dolls. Most tumbled through the air to splash into the water on either side of the dock, but a few landed on unbroken wood in front of or behind the newly created gap. They hit hard, and the sound of snapping bones was accompanied by their screams of pain.
'Warforged!' Diran shouted.
The construct hesitated a moment before turning back around to face Diran and Asenka.
'I'm the one you want, not those warriors. Forget them. Whatever your problem is, it lies with me, so let us settle it-just the two of us.'
The warforged stared at Diran, his expression-like that of all his kind-unreadable. The crystals covering his stone and metal body flickered on and off in a strangely tentative manner that to Asenka indicated indecision.
'Very well,' the warforged replied in a hollow, emotionless voice, then it started walking toward them.
Cathmore, Chagai, and Galharath stood on the shore, watching as their newfound friend went about his work.
'Our test seems to be going rather well, don't you think?' Cathmore said.
Chagai hrumpfed. 'Looks to me like he's just wasting time. If the creature is so powerful, he should've killed the priest by now.'
'Be patient,' Cathmore said. 'After all, this is Solus's first battle. I'm sure he'll improve with experience.'
Galharath didn't bother to respond to either of his companions' observations. He was too busy maintaining his mental link with Solus and monitoring the psi-forged. Solus was indeed powerful, but as Cathmore had said, the psi-forged lacked experience at applying his abilities to specific tasks. He had no concept of how much strength he possessed, and if it wasn't for Galharath helping to stabilize Solus's powers, the psi-forged could well destroy both the docks and the wharf, killing everyone in the vicinity-including Cathmore, Chagai, and himself. While Galharath didn't care all that much about preserving the lives of his companions, he preferred to retain his own corporeal existence.
Galharath had an additional concern about Solus. Now that the psi-forged had come in contact with Bastiaan, the deception that Galharath had created about him being an evil priest who had stolen Solus's memories was in danger of being revealed. Galharath had hoped that Solus would slay Bastiaan on sight, but that hadn't happened. The longer the priest remained alive, the greater the chance that Solus might probe his mind. If that occurred, Solus would learn the truth and slip free from Galharath's control, and if that happened, there was no telling how he would react.
Galharath had to do something and do it fast. The question was what.
A smile crossed the kalashtar's face. He'd thought of a solution as simple as it was elegant. Hopefully, it would also prove deadly for the priest.
With a small portion of his consciousness that wasn't involved in monitoring Solus, Galharath formed a tendril of psionic energy and reached out to Diran Bastiaan's mind.
As Solus approached the man in black, he felt confused and uncertain. This was Diran Bastiaan, the monster who had stolen his memories, yet the human walked toward Solus with his arms held out to his sides, open palms displayed to show he carried no weapons. Solus might have little experience of the world beyond the walls of Mount Luster, but he knew enough to realize Bastiaan might be attempting to deceive him by pretending to be friendly. There was something else about the man that confused Solus. He sensed no ill intent on the man's part, felt no waves of negative emotion radiating from the man. He sensed only concern for others-the woman standing behind him, the small trembling one lying on the dock, the older human lying unconscious nearby, the half-orc that Solus had sent flying through the air, the men and women who'd been injured when Solus had caused the dock beneath their feet to explode. Bastiaan feared for their safety, all of them, without sparing a thought for himself. This was a monster? This was the villain he was supposed to destroy?
Solus halted, stopped by a new thought: Perhaps Diran Bastiaan wasn't the deceiver… perhaps Galharath was.
Before Solus went any further, he needed to speak with Galharath and clear this up, but as the psi-forged began to turn around, intending to walk back to shore and question the psionic artificer, Diran Bastiaan laughed. Surprised, Solus turned around to face the dark priest.
The laughter emerging from Bastiaan's throat was brittle and harsh, with a mocking edge to it. It was the laughter of a man who had nothing but the most profound contempt for the person he was facing… the laughter of a fiend delighted to behold the weakness of the victim standing before him.
Solus might not have his full memories to draw upon, but he recalled one thing very well: Rage.
He concentrated, reached into Bastiaan's mind, and commanded the monster's heart to stop.
Bastiaan's eyes flew wide and his laughter choked off. His features contorted into a grimace of pain, but his eyes held only surprise and disbelief. His body went limp, and he collapsed to the dock like a toy abandoned by a bored child.
The woman cried out in despair and ran to kneel at Bastiaan's side. She slapped his face lightly, and when he didn't respond, she struck him harder.
'Diran! Wake up! Damn you, wake up!' Solus was more confused then ever now, for in the instant when he'd stopped Bastiaan's heart, his mind had touched that of the priest, and he'd sensed that Diran wasn't laughing of his own volition. Something-or someone-had been forcing him, but why?
Before Solus could consider this strange development further, the small man-who a moment ago had been lying on the deck shivering as if in the grip of intense cold-stepped between the psi-forged and the priest's body.
The little man drew a long knife from the sash around his waist and brandished it at Solus, the blade quivering in his hand.
'Guh-get away from hu-hu-him!'
Solus regarded the little man curiously. 'You are smaller than I, and you have no special abilities that I can detect. You are not especially skilled with weaponry, you wield no magic, nor do you possess any powers of the mind. You cannot stand against me, and you are consumed by fear, yet there you stand, guarding Diran Bastiaan
