Shadowblade (17 page)

Zach mentally prepared himself for the pain that he was about to endure as the beast lunged at him. The attack was so fast that Zach could not swing his elongated dagger with any significant force, but he had been able to move it slightly. As the beast descended through the air it rolled slightly, to avoid being skewered, but
Morloth
did slice open a great gash in its side. Blood trickled from the wound and down the edge of the enchanted blade as it carried the werewolf to the ground, and Zach felt the power of the creature enter his own body.

And though Zach didn’t think the he had scored enough of a hit to really hurt the beast, he was grateful when it suddenly leaped away from him allowing him to scramble to his feet and out of the corner.

He looked upon his foe and he was surprised to see that the wounds he had inflicted were still bleeding profusely. Indeed, it seemed as though the werewolf was weakening before his eyes and it was becoming more man-like as he watched.

“Why are you here?” he demanded of the werewolf.

“Bah!” it growled, looking as though it wanted to attack again but didn’t. It was breathing heavily and its face was now completely human. “You and your friends are lucky! But next time you won’t be, we
will
catch you!”

Friends?
he thought to himself.
My only friends are dead.

Then, sensing the confusion in Zach, and too weak now to fight, the creature decided it was time to leave. Zach stood with
Morloth
held before him as the still formidable being made its way to the window, opened it, and then climbed outside. Zach hurried to the window and saw his attacker, partially naked and partially covered in fur, running impossibly fast down the waterfront and leaving a trail of blood in the snow behind him.

Zach closed the window, bolted the door to his room, and returned to his table. He took a minute to catch his breath and wondered how that thing had found him.

“I’m going to have to find another place to stay.”

The next morning Zach arose early and had an excellent meal in the inn’s dining area. As much as he liked this inn, it was time to move. Last night’s attack by the werewolf left no doubt. Mortal beings he understood and could fight, but notoriously hardy -and harder to kill- werewolves were another matter. He slung his backpack with his few belongings and strapped on his sword. He paid the innkeeper enough money to cover the damages without asking questions and set out to find an apartment, or at least another inn, somewhere else in the city. He fervently hoped that the werewolf wouldn’t find him again.

He found a place in another neighborhood that dealt in
fireore
and sold the
firesteel
box to the shopkeeper for half of what it was worth. If the man recognized the work of his deceased competitor, he didn’t show it. And Zach assumed the man was probably happy that there was one less
fireore
dealer to compete with, and probably afraid that someone would target him next. But Zach didn’t care, even at half its value the box brought him a small fortune.

As he walked down the waterfront he thought about the ends he was hoping to achieve. In truth, he wasn’t entirely certain. The Red Dragons seemed an easy option for him to pursue. It was unlikely that any would be able to identify his misdeeds and doubtless he would quickly rise to prominence in their ranks. Yet there was something about the Red Dragons, a level of incompetence due to their sheer size and numbers, that deterred him. He certainly wasn’t impressed by much of what he had seen from them.

Then there were the mysterious
Nyzyr,
sworn enemies of the Tartarus Monks and their Red Dragon benefactors, and a powerful force in their own right. There was an attraction about the way in which the
Nyzyr
struggled against a superior foe that was oppressing them; it wasn’t entirely different from the struggles of the Spiders against their Arnathian oppressors in Hybrand. Only Zach suspected that the
Nyzyr
brought a very different set of skills to the table.

He paused in his musings as he passed by the shop which he burgled last night and glanced at the open door. Sometime during the night when the storm abated, someone must have discovered the state of the shop. The door was now closed and boards had been nailed across it. A sign bearing the image of a Red Dagon was affixed to the door, claiming possession of the abandoned shop and its property. Zach wondered if that would really deter anyone from breaking in again. They probably didn’t really care, though, and Zach assumed the Dragons just wanted to confiscate what was left. In their defense, the Red Dragons did seem to have savage enough response to crime to serve as an effective deterrent.

He shrugged and walked on. The sun was shining and last night’s snow was starting to melt, leaving the road full of muddy slush. He had decided that he would indeed stay in Powyss for the time being. He had not forgotten his commitment of retrieving a vial of water from the Everpool and returning it to Hybrand, but he decided that particular quest could wait. He did have a more pressing requirement after all, and that was using
Morloth
to break the curse that bound his lich benefactor to the dark and lonely Underllars. There would be time for that too and he felt that staying in Powyss might yield the information he needed to track down one of the ancient royal bloodline that would free the lich from his curse, and bestow the lich’s treasure upon him.

He continued to weigh his options, wondering where his greater rise to power would come from. The Red Dragons
had
tried to kill him, but he didn’t take that personally.

“They want you dead!” growled his voice companion. “How can you consider working with them?”

“I think that the assassin that broke into my room was angry for the way his patrol had turned out on the street leading to Powyss. He wanted revenge, that’s all.”

“Fool,” grumbled the voice. “We should kill every Red Dragon you see!”

“That does sound like fun. But we would be forced to flee before long, and I’m not sure that I’m through with this city yet.”

The voice did not reply and Zach continued walking toward
The Siren’s Call
, and he realized then how much he looked forward to his meetings with the proprietor. She was a beautiful woman, and she knew so much about the goings on in Powyss.

“
That’s
why you want to stay here,” snarled the voice. Zach could almost see the condescending sneer on its face, if it had one.

“You need to be quiet when we are inside the
Call.
Understood?”

“What’s there to understand? I am you, you are me.”

Before Zach could ponder that notion any further,
Morloth
began to vibrate in its place on the inside flap of his jacket. He gripped the dagger’s pommel and the vibration grew stronger.

“That’s new,” he whispered in wonder.

“The bloodline of Harfour,” said the voice, in answer to his unspoken suspicions. “It is telling us that one of the lich’s descendants is here.”

Zach looked about but there was nothing unusual in the presence of the crowd milling about the shops and docks of the waterfront. He realized looking would be futile. He had no idea what the mark would look like. So many centuries later, the person with Harfour’s blood could be a king or a peasant, or of blood mixed with another race, an adult or even child. There was no way to know other than letting the dagger lead him.

He was standing in front of the
The Siren’s Call
and was tempted to just go inside. Siren probably had the time she needed to obtain the information he needed.

But,
he decided,
that can wait.

He turned toward the docks, keeping his hand firmly on
Morloth’s
handle, and walked to the water’s edge. There were a number of ships at port and still more anchored farther out. Merchants and businessmen from all over Llars went to and fro, and the gulls were circling in the air waiting for scraps from fishing vessels.

He walked among the ships and piers at the waterfront, examining the names and the faces, but the dagger’s vibration did not grow any stronger or weaker. He hoped he was reading its signs right. The lich had only told him that the dagger would let him know when one of the bloodline of Harfour was near, but never said how.

He walked to the end of the longest pier and looked out to the sea beyond. A fishing vessel had just docked along the side of the pier to his right and a trio of Red Dragons, presumably patrolling the docks, were there to greet the captain.

“Yan Trelwigger?” asked one of the Red Dragons as the captain stepped from his vessel to the dock.

“Aye, that be me,” he said, reaching into his pocket. Zach smiled, knowing the man would try to bribe his way out of trouble.

The Red Dragon pocketed the proffered money and said, “You are under arrest for treason!”

“Treason?” demanded the older man. “What the blazes fer? I done nothin’ but run me fishin’ boat across to Obyn and back! Didn’t I give you enough money?”

The Red Dragon stared blankly at the captain who reached into his pocket and handed a bulging sack of coin to the man. The Red Dragon took that bag of coins and handed to one of his companions. “As I said, you are under arrest for treason. You knowingly accepted passengers who are wanted by the crown and helped them to escape the crown’s justice!”

“Here now!” demanded the old man, backing away from the Red Dragons. It was clear to Zach they were going to keep up the charade of wanting more money until the old man ran out of it, then they would arrest him anyway. “I paid ya, fair and square!”

“You ferried a party of felons to Obyn. A human knight, a Keneerie witch, a bard, a woman of the Jaguar Tribes, and an Arnathian fugitive.”

Zach stared in disbelief at the old man. Could it be? Could his friends have somehow survived? He remembered the werewolf talking of capturing his “friends,” but he had assumed them all to be dead by now. And yet somehow they had survived. They had been
here
in Powyss! He was conflicted then, thinking how it might have been good to see them again. But, no. They would not have been happy to see him after he abandoned them to the horrors of the Black Keep.

Trelwigger’s crew saw what was transpiring and began to untie the mooring lines, ready to shove off. Trelwigger himself looked as though he were preparing to leap into his boat to avoid capture when two Red Dragon soldiers grabbed the front of the man’s tunic and began to pull him away. The third man, dressed in the attire of a Tartarus Monk, stood calmly behind, his cowl drawn low to cover his face and intimidate with his dark presence. Trelwigger’s crewmen were armed and seemed ready to fight to free their captain.

At that moment, Zach decided to act. He decided that he owed his old friends one last favor for abandoning them in those haunted woods. Remembering that as long as he held his dagger he would not be seen, Zach slammed
Morloth’s
blade between the monk’s unprotected shoulder-blades. The monk’s knees gave way and Zach let him fall slowly to the ground, giving his dagger a moment to slake its thirst. Then he pulled the dagger out and cast the body into the icy waters.

The soldiers had not noticed anything until they saw the body of their monk floating in the water beside the pier. In their confusion, Zach grabbed the first one from behind, wrapping his left forearm around the man’s head. Then, with his right hand, he ran
Morloth’s
blade across the man’s exposed throat and hurled him into the icy water. The remaining soldier was beset by fear and just numbly stared as his companions bled out in the water. Zach planted
Morloth
into the base of the man’s skull, and kicked the body into the waves.

Trelwigger had been paralyzed by fear as what seemed to be a shadowy blade killed his three tormentors in a matter of seconds. Realizing he was now free, the man turned to go but Zach grabbed him and held the tip of his dark blade to the man’s throat. Zach smiled, for the crewmen must certainly believe their captain was being held aloft by a ghost.

“The blade pressed against your throat is real, captain!” Zach warned. “Do not fight me for I have just saved your miserable life.”