Before Haaken could protest, Makala stepped forward, took hold of the man's left arm, and flung him over the railing. Haaken yelled as he soared through the air, but his voice was soon cut off as he hit the water and sank.
Makala grinned. Serving Nathifa had its good points from time to time.
The Lhazaar Sea is always cold, but it becomes far more so in winter. A sailor who falls overboard without a protective charm of some sort will be dead soon after plunging into the deadly winter waters. It was only late autumn, but the open sea was still cold enough to kill, and Haaken-who'd sailed aboard one vessel or another all his life-knew this with the same certainty that he knew which way was up and which was down. He was dead as soon as Makala hurled him into the air-it would just take his body a few minutes more to realize it.
When Haaken struck the frigid waters of the Lhazaar, he wished he had died the moment Makala grabbed hold of him. The shock made his heart seize up in his chest, and his teeth clamped down so hard he thought they might shatter. If his tongue had been between them, he would've bitten it in two. Every nerve in his body went numb, and his thoughts became unfocused, gray, and sluggish. He could feel the cold of the sea penetrate his bones and begin to freeze the marrow within.
Not much longer now, he thought. A few more moments, and it'll all be over.
In a way, it was a relief. Life in the Principalities was harsh and unforgiving, and from the day Haaken Sprull was born, he'd lived a life of constant struggle and battle. At least now he'd finally have a chance to rest.
Cold numbness was replaced by comforting warmth as oblivion slowly began to claim him.
But then he felt a spark deep within the core of his being, as if something new was being born inside him. Energy surged through his body, giving him a strength that he had never known before, had never even conceived was possible. He felt his body begin to grow long and sleek, his legs merge into a single limb, his arms retract, fingers joining together, hands flattening, eyes sliding to the sides of his head, nose and mouth lengthening, jaws growing wider, teeth becoming sharp and pointed. The transformation was agonizing beyond belief, and he tried to scream, but all that escaped his mouth was a fount of bubbles. His clothes tore, fell away, and were lost to the depths. He was free to move, to swim, to glide through the water like an arrow through air. The sea no longer seemed cold, no longer felt like a hostile force intent on claiming his life… it felt like home.
Haaken no longer relied on sight as his primary sense. Smell was far more useful here in the sea, and he had new senses upon which to draw as well. He could detect the slightest change in the currents around him, could feel the vibrations of other bodies moving through the water, creatures of various kinds and sizes, and his instincts automatically sorted them into two categories: prey and not-prey. A large not-prey moved ahead and above him, and from its vibrations, he understood that whatever this Not-Prey was, it wasn't alive, which meant it was not food, and thus of absolutely no interest. And yet, he felt compelled to swim toward it, and so he did, not questioning his instincts, not even possessing the ability to question them. He surged through the water, moving swift and sure, angling upward, toward the place where the surface of the sea touched the Great Nothing beyond. He felt a twinge of reluctance and almost veered off. The Great Nothing was not a place for his kind, but his instincts continued to insist he head for the Not-Prey, and so he did, tail fins thrashing wildly, impelling him higher, higher…
His dorsal fin cut the surface, and then with a final effort he leaped forth from the water and into the air. For an instant his body-all seventeen feet of it-hung suspended above the waves. He saw the Not-Prey in front of him, tantalizingly close, but just out reach of his massive jaws. But Haaken was determined to reach the Not-Prey, and he felt the power within him respond to his desire. His body reshaped itself once more, lateral fins becoming arms and hands, tail fin shortening as legs and feet sprouted from his trunk. As Haaken reached the apex of his leap and began to arc downward, he lunged forward with clawed hands, grabbed hold of the Zephyr's aft railing, and heaved his bulk onto the deck.
He stood near the empty pilot's seat and the deactivated containment ring, his cold black eyes focused on three beings staring at him from the center of the deck. Haaken regarded the trio warily, his gills opening and closing as his newly grown lungs drew in oxygen, trying to decide if the strangers were prey or not-prey. An aching pit of hunger lay at the core of his being, and he decided he might as well take a bite out of one of the strangers to see what they tasted like. He took a step forward, thick strands of saliva dripping from his tooth-filled maw and spattering onto the soarwood deck.
The white-faced stranger cloaked in living shadow spoke then. 'That's enough, Haaken.'
Haaken…
The noise was familiar to him for some reason, and hearing it made his head hurt. Then he remembered: that sound was his name.
The man-shark's form blurred and shifted, and Haaken Sprull-naked and dripping with freezing cold seawater-stood upon the deck of the Zephyr. The frigid late autumn wind began to turn the water coating his body to a shell of ice, but Haaken barely noticed. He no longer felt the cold. He was powerful and strong… stronger than he'd ever been before, than he'd ever imagined was possible.
'Not that I'm complaining,' Makala said, 'but do we really want him going about naked?'
Nathifa looked at the vampire as if she had no idea what the woman was talking about, but then she took hold one of her robe's dark tendrils and tore it free. She flung it toward Haaken, and the tendril flew toward him like an ebon leaf tumbling in the wind. The patch of darkness grew as it came toward him, then it wrapped around his groin and rear, sealing itself to his body to form a pair of black trunks.
'Not the most stylish solution, perhaps,' Makala said, 'but I suppose it'll do.'
Haaken ignored the vampire's words, and he was only distantly aware of the clothing provided by the lich sorceress. His thoughts were filled with the memory of water, strength, and hunger so intense it was almost agonizing.
He smiled, displaying teeth that still very much resembled those of a shark. He was looking forward to his next lesson.
Later that night in Kolbyr's palace, Diran, Ghaji, and the others slept in comfortable-if not quite luxurious- rooms provided for them by a grateful Baroness Calida. The captain of the Turnabout had been only too happy to accept Calida's money, and they would be embarking for Trebaz Sinara at dawn's first light. Everyone had turned in early, agreeing they should all get a good night's rest before they set out on the morrow. Each companion had his or her individual room, save for Solus who had no need of sleep. The psiforged stood outside in the inner courtyard, watching heated water bubble forth from the enchanted fountain as he used his psychic abilities to cleanse the last traces of Fury from the palace.
Sometime near midnight there was furtive movement in the palace corridors, followed by two knocks-one on Diran's door, and one on Ghaji's. Both doors were opened, guests were welcomed, and four people got little sleep that night.
And hundreds of miles to the north in a frozen palace made of ice and bone, a claw-like hand stroked the pate of a glossy black skull, and a pair of bloodless lips stretched into a satisfied smile.
Everything was proceeding exactly as planned.
CHAPTER TWELVE
So when am I going to meet Captain Onu?' Diran asked.
'I'm not sure you want to,' Ghaji replied. 'He… takes some getting used to.'
Diran gave his friend a quizzical look, but Ghaji just shook his head. 'It's difficult to explain. You'll have to experience the good captain for yourself. As for his first mate Thokk… well, he's as night to the captain's day. Where Onu is honey-tongued and effusive, Thokk is plain-spoken and all business.' In fact, it was the dwarf who'd negotiated the terms of their passage while Onu drank ale and regaled the tavern-goers with sea stories, each more outrageous than the last.
It was an hour after sunrise, and the Turnabout sailed eastward into the Gulf of Ingjald, Kolbyr little more than a speck in the distance off their aft bow. The slate-gray surface of the Lhazaar was choppy today, but not so
