The Thieves of Blood: Blade of the Flame - Book 1 (34 page)

The halfling walked down the corridor toward the two guards, weaving with an unsteady gait. At first neither noticed him in the dim light, but as he drew closer, one of the guards whirled around to stare at the halfling.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” the man shouted, sounding more bemused than angry.

The halfling didn’t answer. He took a couple more weaving steps, stopped, stiffened, then collapsed to the floor. Both guards stared at him for several moments, as if they expected the halfling to leap up any moment and yell, “Surprise!” The small man just lay there, unmoving.

The guard who’d shouted at the halfling drew his sword and walked forward, keeping his gaze trained on the seemingly unconscious little man, alert for even the most subtle of movements. The guard reached the halfling and was just about to prod him with his sword when a blur of motion emerged from the corridor’s gloom. The Black Fleet raider looked up to see a woman come cartwheeling toward him, but before he could fully understand what he was seeing, let alone react, he felt a sharp piercing pain in his side. He looked down to see the halfling sitting up and holding onto the hilt of the long knife that had been thrust into his gut. Confused and feeling the first numbing touches of shock, the raider could only watch as the woman—an elf, he thought, though she was moving too fast for him to be sure—tumbled past him. She leaped into the air and delivered a spinning kick to his partner’s head before the other guard had gotten his sword even halfway clear of its scabbard. The other raider’s
head spun to the side, the motion accompanied by the sickening sound of snapping bone. The man was dead before the elf-woman landed on her feet, but it took his body an instant longer to realize it and topple to the floor.

The surviving guard looked back down at the halfling, and the little man gave him a savage grin before shoving the long knife farther in and twisting it around. Agony exploded in the raider’s abdomen and chest, but darkness rushed in to sweep away the pain.

Yvka was examining the lock on the gate as Hinto wiped his long knife clean on the shirt of the downed raider. The halfling sheathed his weapon and came over to join her.

“How’s it look?”

“Old and sturdy,” she said, “but I think I can open it.”

“Hello?”

Both Yvka and Hinto started at the sound of the voice. It belonged to a small girl child, and it came from the other side of the gate. With the light from the greenfire braziers so close, it took a moment for their vision to adjust before they saw the child standing a dozen yards behind the gate. She was dressed in ragged dirty clothing, barefoot, and her hair was scraggly and matted. She was also pale and far too thin.

Yvka gave the girl what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Hello.”

The girl hesitated then took a few steps closer. “The others don’t want me to talk to you. They’re afraid you’ve come to do bad things to us, just like you did to
them.”
She pointed at the
prone form of the guard whose neck Yvka had broken. “Have you?”

Yvka tried to peer past the girl to see the other prisoners, but the brazier light interfered too much, and she could only make out shadows behind the girl that might or might not be a huddled mass of frightened people. She sniffed the air and smelled unwashed bodies, urine, and feces. She then recalled what Tresslar had told them about the storage areas.
They’re really just large caverns that the goblinoids didn’t do much with, except smooth out the floors some. I can’t imagine it would be a very comfortable place to have your quarters
. Considering the girl’s appearance and the smell emanating from the cavern, Yvka thought the artificer had made a huge understatement.

“We’ve come to set you free,” Hinto said.

“Free?” The girl came yet a few steps closer. “What’s that?”

Yvka felt a rush of sorrow at the girl’s question. “It means that you can go wherever you want, do whatever you want. It means that you’ll never have to serve in Grimwall again, and you won’t have to fear Erdis Cai any more.”

The girl was still a few yards away, but she was close enough now for Yvka to see her clearly. The elf-woman sometimes had trouble telling how old humans were, for they aged so much more rapidly than elfkind, but she thought the girl was five, six at the most. Yvka wondered if the poor thing had been brought here so young that she had no memory of the outside world or worse, that she’d been born here and never been beyond Grimwall’s tunnels and chambers. Either way, it was a tragedy. A human lifetime was brief enough as it was without having to waste any of it trapped in a place like this.

The girl kept coming toward them until she stood just on the other side of the gate. “Promise?” she said.

Yvka smiled though she felt tears threatening. “With all my heart.”

The girl looked into the elf-woman’s eyes as if trying to gauge her sincerity. Finally, the girl smiled, then turned to back over her shoulder. “Everyone! This lady is going to help us!”

At first there was no response, but then the shadowy forms began to come forward from the darkness, resolving into men and woman, children and oldsters, dozens upon dozens of them. Some were wearing simple brown tunics woven from coarse cloth, while others were garbed in tattered scraps no more substantial than what the little girl wore. Many were stooped and hunched over, or walked with a limp or held an arm at their side at awkward angle, the legacy of old injuries that had never healed properly. Worst of all were the gaunt ones with a white pallor and bite marks—some of them fresh—on every inch of their exposed skin.

Yvka hadn’t told anyone, but once she’d learned Erdis Cai was behind the Black Fleet, she’d decided her employers would want to establish a trading relationship with the undead explorer in order to gain access to the treasures, both material and mystical, that he’d acquired during his mortal life. After seeing these poor wretches, she hoped Diran would destroy the bastard and send his soul straight to the worst afterlife the planes had to offer.

Yvka reached into her pouch, removed a pomegranate seed, and inserted it into the keyhole of the gate’s lock. “Everyone stand back,” she said. “This tiny seed is a magical explosive, and it packs a wallop when it goes off.”

The prisoners shuffled backward but not too far, as if they couldn’t bring themselves to move any real distance from the gate and their promised freedom. Yvka figured they were far enough away. After all, it wasn’t
that
powerful an explosive. She looked down at Hinto.

“We need to move.”

The halfling nodded and together they stepped several paces away from the gate. Yvka was just about to turn back around and speak the three words that would activate the magic seed, when her foot came down on something slick and almost slid out from under her. She gazed downward and saw a pool of blood on the floor, along with a line of thick drops stretching off down the corridor.

The guard whom Hinto had stabbed was gone.

Ghaji and Diran jogged through the domed city. They’d found their way here easily, thanks to Tresslar’s directions, but the place was deserted. The half-orc ran with an axe in each hand, keeping a sharp eye out in case something should be hiding inside the domed buildings, ready to pounce on them.

A sound like breaking surf came from the direction in which they were headed. At first Ghaji wondered if the vast cavern that housed the domed city opened onto the sea, then he realized that what he was hearing wasn’t the rise and fall of crashing waves but rather chanting. Ghaji glanced at Diran, and the priest nodded grimly. The companions increased their speed and ran as fast as they could toward the sound.

The chanting grew louder and the domed buildings fewer
and farther between. Then the buildings were gone, and the stone floor of the cavern sloped downward to make a large bowl-shaped depression in the ground. Bald-headed men and women garbed in black filled the amphitheater, sitting in descending rows. Now Ghaji understood why the city was deserted: everyone was here. Diran and Ghaji stopped at the top level of the amphitheater, hearts pounding and lungs heaving. The denizens of Grimwall were so engrossed in their chanting that they didn’t notice the newcomers, though Ghaji didn’t think they’d remained unnoticed for long.

He leaned close to Diran and spoke softly. “I thought the resurrection ceremony was supposed to take place in the lower catacombs.”

“Tresslar was merely giving us his best guess,” Diran said. “Perhaps Erdis Cai has made some changes to Grimwall in the last forty years.”

The chanting, which was in a language Ghaji didn’t recognize, grew louder still, rising to a crescendo. Diran gripped Ghaji’s shoulder and crouched, pulling the half-orc down with him. Ghaji understood. Diran wanted to observe for a moment and remain unseen as long as they could.

A figure sitting on the bottom row stood and walked into the center of the amphitheater’s stone floor. The audience was shouting now, some of them raising their fists in the air, though they stayed seated. The man was garbed in obsidian armor with jutting spikes at the shoulders and elbows, and he wore a broadsword belted at his waist. His head was uncovered, and even from this distance Ghaji could make out the man’s chalky complexion and crimson-tinted eyes. This, at last, was Erdis Cai.

Ghaji glanced at Diran and saw that his friend’s eyes had narrowed and his jaw was set in a determined line. This was the foul creature that had sent the Black Fleet out roving to capture and sacrifice who knew how many innocents over the years and who also held Makala prisoner somewhere within this ancient series of caverns and tunnels.

“Do you see the symbol on his breastplate?” Diran asked.

Ghaji’s upper lip curled in disgust. “The Mark of Vol.”

Erdis Cai raised his arms and the crowd fell instantly silent.

“My children,” he began. The vampire lord didn’t shout, but his voice filled the amphitheater. “All of you were either brought here over the yeas by my Black Fleet or are the descendants of those who were, and when the dark glory of Vol was revealed unto you, you chose to join me and enter into Her service.”

Ghaji didn’t have to wonder what happened to those captives who refused to worship Vol. They were pressed into servitude, sacrificed, or used as food.

“Most of you were not here at the beginning when the first sacrifice was made in our mistress’ dark name, but you will all be here to witness the end, for only three more sacrifices are needed to restore the ancient warriors to life. Tonight we shall conduct all three sacrifices, and Vol shall have her army at last!”

The crowd roared with excitement, some people clapping, some stomping their feet, many doing both. Ghaji looked at Diran and saw that his frown had deepened into a scowl. Not only had they arrived on a night of sacrifice, they’d arrived on the
last
night, when Erdis Cai would complete the spell to restore the warriors to life and place them under his command.
Diran would have said that that the Silver Flame itself had led them here to this place and time in order to prevent such a monstrous evil from being unleashed upon the Principalities. Ghaji figured they’d just gotten lucky. Either way, it didn’t matter. The two of them were here and there was work to be done—the kind of work they did best.

“Shall we?” Ghaji said.

A pair of silver daggers appeared in Diran’s hands as if by magic. “Let’s.”

They stood and began making their way through the crowd toward the amphitheater floor. The crowd’s exuberance drained away, and their cheers fell silent as all heads in the amphitheater turned to look at the priest and the half-orc. No one tried to stop them, perhaps because they were so surprised to find intruders in their midst. Then again, perhaps it had something to do with the way Ghaji bared his teeth at everyone as they passed.

If Erdis Cai was surprised to see the pair of newcomers striding through the crowed toward him, he gave no outward sign. The vampire lord simply stood, watched, and waited.

As Ghaji and Diran drew near the amphitheater floor, the half-orc spied Onkar sitting in the front row next to a beautiful raven-haired woman wearing a red bustier and a black skirt. The Black Fleet commander jumped to his feet, eyes blazing red and fangs bared in a hiss. Onkar reached for his sword, but Diran hurled one of his silver daggers and the blade pierced the vampire’s hand. Onkar howled in pain and held his hand up to inspect it, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. The dagger had completely penetrated his undead flesh and bone, the hilt pressed against the back of his hand and the
blade emerging from his palm. Black ooze dripped from the wound, and a foul stench filled the air as Onkar’s hand began to sizzle and burn. The vampire grabbed the hilt of the blade and attempted to pull it free, but the handle was also silver, and he yanked his hand away, the palm burnt and smoking. The hand impaled by the dagger continued to blacken until it was little more than bone covered by charred skin. Then the flesh on Onkar’s wrist and forearm began to smoke as the silver poisoning started to spread.