The Thieves of Blood: Blade of the Flame - Book 1 (21 page)

“The Mire might not be able to reach out and crush a vessel,” Diran said, “but it can certainly keep us from going anywhere. At least, as long as it’s healthy.”

“What do you mean?” Ghaji asked.

In answer, Diran drew one of his poison-smeared daggers, to which he’d applied a fresh coat, and leaned over the railing. Holding tight to the hilt, he gave the blade a flick to shake off
a few droplets of poison. Ghaji watched the seaweed where the drops hit turn instantly black, as if Diran had splattered them with dark ink, but more than their color change, the half-orc noted that the consistency of the substance softened and seemed to relax.

Diran replaced the dagger in his cloak, sliding it into the hidden pocket that Ghaji knew was specially treated to hold the poison he used. The priest then reached into the money purse hanging from his belt and withdrew two copper coins. He handed one to Ghaji.

“Throw yours onto the green section. I’ll toss mine onto the black.”

Ghaji nodded, took the copper, and did as his friend asked. Ghaji’s coin hit the hardened seaweed layer with an audible clink and bounced several times before coming to a rest. Diran then tossed his coin. It hit the small black patch with a soft, moist splat and then slowly sank from sight.

Diran turned toward Ghaji and smiled.

By mid afternoon they were ready to put Diran’s plan into action. Ghaji stood at the bow, holding onto the grappling hook. His hand was covered with a crudely stitched glove made from the pockets in Diran’s cloak where he had kept his poison daggers. The hook itself was liberally coated with glistening poison. Diran stood at the starboard railing, facing The
Proud Pelican
, bow in hand, arrow nocked and ready. The tip of Diran’s arrow was wrapped in cloth that had been soaked in lantern oil. Yvka sat in the pilot’s seat, ready to activate the elemental at Diran’s
command. Hinto crouched next to her, looking nervous, but ready to help if he were needed.

“Ready, Ghaji?” Diran called.

“Always,” the half-orc replied. He had no idea if his friend’s plan was going to work, but that didn’t bother him too much. Finding out was always half the fun.

“Go!” Diran ordered.

Ghaji hurled the grappling hook as far as he could straight out before them. The opposite end of the rope was tied fast to the bow railing so there would be no worries about losing it. The hook hit the hardened seaweed layer and bounced a couple of times. When it came to a rest, Ghaji began hauling it in, being careful not to pull too fast so the hook wouldn’t bounce much on the way back. The goal was not to simply retrieve the hook, but to poison as much of the green substance of the Mire as possible.

Ghaji watched the seaweed as he pulled in the hook. A black line of poisoned seaweed trailed behind the hook, almost as if it were a quill pen that Ghaji was using to etch a broad black line toward the
Zephyr
’s bow.

“Almost done!” Ghaji called out.

Diran nodded and using a flint and striker, ignited the oil-soaked cloth at the tip of his arrow. The cloth burst into flame, and Diran let it burn for several seconds before he drew back his string, aimed, and let the arrow fly.

Still pulling in the grappling hook, Ghaji watched Diran’s flaming arrow arc through the air toward the
Pelican
. Diran had taken up the traditional weapon of the Order of the Silver Flame late in life and was still only minimally competent with it, but the target was large enough, and better yet, completely
stationary, and the arrow streaked toward the
Pelican
’s upturned bow. Ghaji had already tossed a lantern full of oil over earlier, breaking it against the ship and soaking the wood with flammable fuel. Thus the arrow’s fire quickly spread, and within seconds the
Pelican’s
bow had become a blazing bonfire, bright flames reaching toward the sky as they hungrily devoured the ship’s wood.

Ghaji finished pulling in the hook, and he was careful to take hold of it with his gloved hand. The black line was widening as more of the seaweed, or whatever the stuff was, died. Now everything depended on whether what Hinto had told them was true. Inside the
Pelican
’s hold, which was only partially submerged, were crates filled with what remained of the Regalport spirits the crew had “liberated” during their ill-fated voyage. If the flames burned hot enough to ignite the alcohol in those bottles …

As if Ghaji’s thought made it reality, the
Pelican
exploded in a fiery blast that sent flaming debris flying everywhere, including onto the
Zephyr
’s deck. Immediately following the explosion, a shockwave rippled beneath the
Zephyr
, and both Ghaji and Diran had to grab hold of the vessel’s railing to keep from being knocked off their feet. Ghaji became aware of a low thrumming sound, one more felt than heard. It almost sounded like something was moaning in pain, something
huge
.

“Now, Yvka!” Diran shouted.

The elf-woman slapped her palm onto the hand link on the arm of the pilot’s chair, and the containment ring flared to life. The elemental trapped within began producing wind, and the
Zephyr’s
sails grew instantly full. At first the vessel didn’t move, but then she began sliding forward across the blackened path
that Ghaji had created with the poisoned grappling hook.

It was working! Diran’s plan had been to make a passage so they could sail out of the Mire and to burn up the
Pelican
to distract the great beast while they escaped. Of course, Diran hadn’t mentioned anything about flaming debris raining down on the
Zephyr
. The elemental’s wind extinguished the flames that had begun to eat at the mainsail, but a half dozen other small fires now burned on the sloop’s deck. Hinto jumped up from where he crouched beside Yvka. Her traveler’s cloak still hung on the railing where she’d earlier put it to dry. The halfling snatched up the cloak as he ran past then dashed into the cabin. When he came out, he carried a water skin, and he uncorked it and poured the contents over the cloak. Then Hinto went to work snuffing out the flames.

Ghaji looked back questioningly to the halfling, but the pirate said, “I’ve got it! You keep doing your job!”

Ghaji had to admit that for a man who was a few eggs shy of a full nest, Hinto didn’t hesitate when it came time to act. Ghaji turned back toward the bow and hurled the grappling hook again, intending to create the next leg of their passage out of the Mire.

As Hinto slapped the sodden cloak on the deck in his effort to extinguish the flames, one of the Mire’s lamprey-mouths lunged over the guardrail toward him. The halfling screeched in terror as the tooth-ringed maw came at him, but Diran dropped his bow, drew a poisoned dagger from his cloak and threw it at the lamprey-thing. The blade struck the creature in the mouth, and grayish-green ooze shot forth to splatter onto the deck, just missing the still shrieking Hinto. The lamprey-thing, already turning black from the poison, took
Diran’s dagger with it as it slipped back over the railing and into the sea.

Diran started toward the halfling, but before he had taken two steps, he whirled back around. He drew another poisoned dagger as he spun and slashed the lamprey-thing that had just been about to fasten onto the back of his neck. The blade’s edge was sharp, its poison strong, and the lamprey-thing’s rubbery gray hide parted like wet vellum. The creature fell back into the Mire in two blackening pieces.

More of the lamprey-things came lunging over the railing after that, as if the Mire was desperately trying to keep them from escaping. Diran fought the creatures off wielding a poison-coated dagger in each hand, while Hinto continued putting out flames with Yvka’s cloak, shrieking all the while. When the last fire was out, the halfling pirate ran back to Yvka’s side, curled up into a ball, and shivered uncontrollably.

It was slow going, and the Mire continued to attack with its serpent-mouths as they went, but once they had gotten far enough away from what Ghaji guessed to be the Mire’s central core, the lamprey-things came no more, and the
Zephyr
was able to make better progress. Come dusk, the sloop at last sailed out of the Mire and once more plied the open sea.

Ghaji tossed the grappling hook into the water to clean off the last traces of poison, then hauled it back in and dropped it onto the deck. His arm and shoulder ached like blazes from long hours of heaving the grappling hook and pulling it in, but the pain was a small price to pay for helping to win their freedom.

Ghaji walked over to Diran and gave his friend a weary grin. “Looks like we survived another one,” he said.

Diran smiled and lay a hand on Ghaji’s shoulder. Though the priest appeared to do nothing special, soothing warmth spread through Ghaji’s shoulder and down along his arm, washing away his pain.

“Thanks,” Ghaji said.

Diran gave Ghaji’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze before removing his hand. “Anytime, my friend.”

The two companions headed back to the pilot’s chair were Yvka sat, Hinto sill at her side, though the halfling no longer shook with fear.

“I have to admit I was wrong,” the halfling said. “The Mire
almost
got us, but it didn’t, thanks to you three. I’m in your debt.”

“You carried your weight well enough,” Ghaji said. “’Course, small as you are, there’s only so much to carry.”

Hinto grinned at the joke, taking no offense. “So where are you bound?” he asked.

“We’re on an urgent mission,” Diran said, “to save a friend of ours who’s been abducted by sea raiders, along with all those who were taken with her. To that end, we’re traveling to Dreadhold.”

Hinto’s eyes went wide. “Dreadhold? The prison island?”

“The same,” Diran confirmed.

Hinto jumped to his feet and ran to the guardrail. He climbed up and launched himself into the air, clearly attempting to abandon ship. He would have succeeded too, if Ghaji hadn’t managed to catch hold of him at the last instant.

“Let me go!” Hinto kicked and thrashed, trying to free himself from the half-orc’s grip without success. “They don’t kindly to resourceful sailors such as myself on Dreadhold!”

“You mean
pirates
like you,” Ghaji said. He tossed the halfling onto the deck.

“Don’t worry,” Diran said in a soothing voice. “What you may have done in the past is no concern of ours. We have no intention of turning you over to the prison’s warders.”

Hinto didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t make another attempt to leap overboard. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his slender arms around them.

“Tell me more about this friend of yours,” he said.

M
akala awoke upon a soft mattress covered by a satin sheet that felt more luxurious than anything she’d ever known. The room was lit by the gentle glow of a lantern sitting on top of a dressing table of highly polished wood. A gold-framed mirror hung above the table next to a huge jewelry box with the lid raised. The box had to be kept open because of the massive mound of jewelry spilling over the sides: pearls, diamonds, rubies, opals, and shimmering crystals that Makala suspected might be miniature dragonshards. In the corner of the room was a tall wardrobe, its doors partially open to reveal the ornate gowns hanging inside. Other than these things, the room, hewn from the same smooth rock as the rest of Grimwall, was bare of furnishings and possessions.

This was Jarlain’s room, though it seemed the woman wasn’t here. After Erdis Cai had given Jarlain charge of Makala, the pale raven-haired beauty had escorted her though the corridors of Grimwall to her own quarters. She’d chatted along the way
as if the two of them were old friends instead of captor and prisoner. When they’d reached Jarlain’s room, a meal was waiting for them—shark steaks and white wine on silver platters laid out upon Jarlain’s dresser. It had been so long since Makala had eaten that she couldn’t keep from salivating as soon as she smelled the freshly cooked fish. She’d eaten her own portion and then, at Jarlain’s insistence, the other woman’s as well. With a belly full of food and too much wine, Makala had found herself becoming increasingly drowsy. She barely remembered Jarlain helping her undress and get into bed.