and his companions made me do. They are evil men and must be stopped.' The construct looked down at the halfling who still had hold of one of his fingers. 'Right?'
Hinto smiled as he gazed up at the warforged like a child looking at a beloved adult. 'Exactly right, my friend.'
Ghaji looked at Yvka and raised an eyebrow. It seemed Solus was following Hinto's lead in more ways than one.
'As soon as Diran returns, we can make plans for our departure,' Ghaji said.
'He is already here,' Solus said. 'He's been watching us from the shadows all this time, waiting to see if I am still a threat.'
The warforged pointed to the far end of the courtyard where the illumination of the light globes didn't quite reach, and everyone turned to look. At first nothing happened, but then a piece of the darkness broke free and came striding forward.
'I regret our last encounter, priest,' Solus said as Diran joined them. 'I hope you will forgive me.'
Diran smiled. 'I've had a great deal of practice at forgiving. I think I can manage to do it one more time.'
'I hate it when you sneak around like that,' Ghaji said. 'At least now there's one of us you can't hide from.'
Diran's smile fell away and his expression became grim. 'Let us hope Cathmore has no more success hiding from our new friend than I did.'
The night was more than halfway gone by the time Skarm entered his mistress's lair. His burns were almost entirely healed, thanks to a lone streetwalker in Perhata who'd reluctantly donated her life to fuel the barghest's healing. Unfortunately, dealing with his injuries had used up all the life energy he'd stolen, and Skarm was hungry once more. As he padded along the tunnel to Nathifa's chamber in wolf form, he kept alert for any vermin that might make a quick snack, but aside from himself, the tunnel was empty. Even rats and lizards were afraid to enter into the presence of his dread mistress, it seemed.
Skarm wasn't surprised to find Nathifa sitting at her table, gazing into the empty eye sockets of her obsidian skull. The lich didn't turn around or in any way acknowledge his return, but he knew she was aware of him nevertheless. He shifted to goblin form so that he could converse with her. But before he could say anything, Nathifa spoke.
'You have failed to obtain the Amahau.'
Her tone was cold, utterly devoid of emotion, and that frightened Skarm far more than if she'd been angry. He knew it would do him no good to make excuses, but he couldn't help himself.
'I tried… several times, but I encountered… difficulties.' He hated hearing the wheedling sound of his own voice.
'I know all about your so-called difficulties. Espial has kept me informed of your progress, or rather, your lack thereof.' Nathifa stroked the black skull's smooth round dome with slow, gentle motions of her bone-white hand, as if the object were a beloved child… or perhaps a lover.
Nathifa didn't take her gaze off Espial, and Skarm wasn't sure whether or not to be grateful. When his mistress got like this, she was difficult to read. He had no idea whether he was going to be punished for his failures, or if she were so caught up in communing with whatever spirit inhabited the obsidian skull that she was going to ignore them. To be on the safe side, he decided to keep talking.
'I know where the priest and his companions are going. They travel to Mount Luster to confront those who have taken up residence there. The leader of the Mount Luster group is an old enemy of the priest's named Aldarik Cathmore. The priest intends to confront Cathmore, and his companions-including the artificer who carries the Amahau-travel with him. I thought-'
'— that you could make another attempt to snatch the Amahau while both groups are distracted by battle,' Nathifa finished. 'I know. Espial has told me this as well.'
Skarm scowled at the black skull. He'd never felt comfortable around the mystical object, and he certainly didn't like it giving away his plans before he had a chance to propose them to Nathifa himself, but Skarm's irritation was swept away by his mistress's next words.
'It is a good plan, Skarm. Espial approves.'
Skarm looked at the skull with newfound appreciation. Perhaps he would have to reconsider his feelings toward the thing.
'There's more going on here than we've realized, Skarm. It's as if we were part a grand tapestry-all of us: you and I, the priest and his companions, Cathmore and his allies…' Nathifa's voice held a dreamy lilt to it, as if she were under some sort of enchantment. 'We are threads being brought together by a master weaver, one overlapping the other, about to be drawn tight to become the warp and woof of an ingenious design.'
Nathifa rose from her chair and glided silently across the floor toward Skarm. It appeared even the endorsement of his mistress's vaunted magic skull wasn't enough to spare him from the lich's wrath. The barghest raised his arms to shield himself from the blow that was sure to come, but Nathifa moved past him and continued to the tunnel entrance.
'Don't just stand there. We have work to do.'
Skarm lowered his arms and gazed at his mistress's retreating back in confusion. Since entering into Nathifa's service, Skarm had never known the lich to leave her lair, but unless he misunderstood, she intended to accompany him to Mount Luster. Nathifa disappeared into the tunnel, and a moment later she shouted Skarm's name.
The barghest shifted into wolf form and hurried to catch up to his dark mistress.
Makala had been flying in bat form for hours. Had she been a natural creature, she would have become weary long ago, but weariness was for mortals. Of course, hunger was also a mortal sensation, and being undead did not spare her from it. It had been more than a day since last she had fed-she felt a pang of guilt for poor dead Eneas- and while her strength and endurance hadn't diminished appreciably in that time, the emptiness gnawing at the core of her being was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. She could feel her tenuous control over the Hunger beginning to slip, and she knew that if she postponed feeding too long, the Hunger would take control of her. If that happened, she would become a wild creature, an animal concerned only with satisfying the basest of desires.
She pushed such concerns from her mind. Thinking of the Hunger would only make it stronger. Like Diran she had once been an assassin in the Brotherhood of the Blade, and like all in the Brotherhood, she had played host to a dark spirit implanted within her in order to blunt her natural human empathy and make her a cold and utterly dispassionate killer. She had been freed of her dark spirit some time ago, but she remembered what it was like to co-exist with evil. That experience helped her live with the Hunger without giving herself over to it, and she would have to rely on that experience once again this night.
Besides, she would feed once she found Cathmore… and then when she was finished, she would leave his desiccated corpse for the mountain scavengers to feed upon, and there would be a little less evil in the world.
Makala continued flying through the night air, allowing her senses to guide her rather than consciously choosing her direction. She could detect the scent of blood over great distances, whether it had been spilled or was still contained within a living body. She'd already sniffed out a band of elven hunters as well as a small enclave of kobolds who made their home in the mountains. Both times she'd been tempted to stop and feed a little to tide her over until she found Cathmore, but she'd resisted. She preferred to save her appetite for the main course.
She had other senses than smell to rely on, however. Her hearing was so sharp that she could pick up the soft whisper of blood as it pulsed through living veins, and she could feel the warmth radiating from a living body as if it were a miniature sun. If Cathmore was anywhere within these mountains, she'd find him.
She flew on, preternatural senses searching, searching…
As she flew, she tried to imagine the taste of Cathmore's blood as it filled her mouth and ran down her throat.
Like most orcs and half-orcs, Ghaji wasn't fond of horses-unless they were on a plate. That was all right, though, since by and large the beasts didn't care for him either. As much he disliked the smelly nags, he'd rather be sitting on the back of the most odiferous, foul-tempered horse than the so-called steed he currently rode: a nine- foot tall bird with long, powerfully muscled legs and tiny useless wings. The creature was called a stone-stepper because of its ability to gracefully navigate the rough terrain here in the foothills of the Hoarfrost Mountains, but Ghaji thought a better name would've been ass-breaker because of how uncomfortable it was to ride the monstrous avian. Asenka had supplied the mounts for them. The Sea Scorpions served as Baron Mahir's elite warriors on both
