The Thieves of Blood: Blade of the Flame - Book 1 (10 page)

“My friend’s here, but he’s out fishing right now. We’ll have to wait a bit.” Without pausing for them to reply, Yvka turned and swam back to the obsidian island.

“Looks like we’re going to get wet, my friend.”

Diran took several daggers from their hidden pockets in his cloak and slipped them into his boots. He then removed his cloak, rolled it into a bundle, and stored it in the open compartment under his seat. He then sat on the port railing and allowed himself to fall backward into the water. Diran might have been taken from the Principalities as a child, but he still possessed a Lhazaarite’s grace in the water. He swam quickly and confidently to shore, barely disturbing the water as he went. As Diran climbed onto the island’s craggy surface, he glanced back at Ghaji and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Ghaji sighed. Best to get this over with.

He removed his breastplate and slid it beneath the seat next to Diran’s cloak. He then climbed up onto the railing and
jumped off. As he hit the water, sudden shock ran through his body, for the slate gray sea was so cold here that it felt as if he’d plunged into the deepest depths of an arctic ocean. The splash he’d made upon entering the water was so loud and the spray so voluminous that everyone on the obsidian island turned to look. One wit shouted, “There she blows!” and laughter rippled through the crowd. Cold seeped into Ghaji’s bones as he swam for shore, and his limbs began to feel slow and heavy. He emerged from the frigid sea, swearing and shivering.

Both Diran and Yvka stood waiting for him, and the elf-woman gave him a look as Ghaji joined them, cold water dripping off him like freezing rain.

“Don’t say a word,” the half-orc snarled through chattering teeth.

“Not a peep,” Yvka said.

Neither Diran nor Yvka seemed affected by their time in the chill water, but then both were Lhazaarites and presumably used to the cold sea.

“If the water’s this bad in summer,” Ghaji said, “what’s it like in winter?”

“Deadly,” Diran answered without the slightest trace of humor. “Winter storms churn the sea, and the water is so cold that if one falls in unprotected and isn’t quickly rescued, death occurs within moments.”

“Delightful,” Ghaji muttered and tried not to shiver anew as a breeze wafted over his wet body. He noted a number of rowboats that had been pulled onto the shore around the small island, the craft no doubt having provided passage for those from the larger vessels anchored nearby. Not everyone was forced to swim to shore. Lucky bastards, Ghaji thought.

Waves lapped at the shore, and the black rocky ground was littered with bits of seaweed, shells, and the carcasses of small crabs.

“Depending on the tides and the season, the isle is sometimes submerged,” Yvka said, stepping over a dead eyeless fish. “Don’t worry, though. This time of year, the isle won’t be underwater again until nightfall.”

“What exactly
is
this place?” Diran asked Yvka.

“Nowhere,” the elf-woman replied.

“If you’re trying to make a joke,” Ghaji said, “it’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking. That’s what this place is called: Nowhere. As Diran guessed earlier, it appears on no chart, not because it’s unknown to mapmakers, but because the Lhazaar princes wish it that way.”

Diran frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“This small isle is neutral ground and has remained thus for centuries. Legend says that Lhazaar herself originally established it as a place to meet in secret with other princes, as well as to broker political and business deals with representatives of other powers. Anyone can come here to talk about anything without fear of discovery or reprisal.”

Ghaji looked around. “So all these people …”

“Aren’t here officially,” Yvka said. “At the moment there are representatives present from Princes Ryger and Mika, various Dragonmarked Houses, as well as a group of merfolk who are meeting beneath the waves.”

Diran looked impressed. “And no violence breaks out?”

“As I said, this is neutral ground and those who come here are dedicated to keeping it that way,” Yvka replied, “though, as
with so much else in life, Nowhere isn’t perfect and the tradition of neutrality is sometimes breached. We must remain on our guard at all times.”

“Tell me,” Diran said, “among those currently present on the isle, are there any representatives of the Shadow Network?”

One corner of the elf-woman’s mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Perhaps.”

Ghaji looked at Yvka. “Since Diran and I first came to the Principalities, I’ve heard talk—mostly whispers spoken in the backrooms of taverns—about a secret organization of spies and assassins called the Shadow Network. I’d thought the stories nothing more than lies told to pass the time and impress outlanders.”

Diran didn’t take his gaze off Yvka as he replied to his friend. “Perhaps because that’s what the Network prefers people to think.”

Yvka’s mouth stretched into a full smile but she didn’t comment otherwise.

Their mysterious elf friend had just become even more mysterious, Ghaji thought.

“Who have you brought us here to meet?” Diran asked.

Yvka was about to answer when there was a loud splashing just offshore.

“Him,” the elf-woman said, pointing.

Diran and Ghaji turned toward the commotion and saw a large gray figure emerge from the water and come trudging toward shore. The cause of the commotion was readily apparent. The gray figure had hold of a shark’s tail and was dragging the thrashing beast behind him.

“Shark,” Diran said. “Twelve, maybe fourteen feet long.”

The being that dragged the very unhappy shark behind him was warforged, an artificial construct created to fight in the Last War and imbued with intelligence and sentience. Like all warforged it was constructed from a composite of materials: iron, stone, silver, obsidian, and darkwood. It had three-fingered hands and two-toed feet, and its face possessed glowing green eyes and a hinged jaw to form a mouth. In addition, this particular warforged was larger and bulkier than most and had obviously been built for strength. Crusty growths dotted the surface of its body, and Ghaji realized they were barnacles. Evidently this construct spent a significant amount of its time underwater. The warforged had to have some sort of protection against the corrosive effects of seawater, and Ghaji wondered if the creature had been adapted for underwater maneuvers by some artificer during the Last War. Ghaji had fought alongside and against numerous warforged during his years as a soldier, and he’d seen many built for specific tasks, but he’d never seen one like this. As big and strong as this warforged looked, Ghaji had no trouble imagining it striding across the sea bottom and ramming a fist into the hull of a ship to sink it.

The construct stepped onto shore and continued onto the island, dragging the writhing shark behind him.

The people gathered on the island, whether to barter, argue, persuade, threaten or simply exchange information, broke off their separate conversations and turned to watch as the warforged dragged the shark into their midst. They wisely backed away to give the thrashing shark plenty of room, for the creature’s jaws snapped open and closed continuously, as if it didn’t want to miss a chance to sink its teeth into whatever
target might present itself. When the warforged reached the center of the small island, he released his hold on the shark’s tail. The fish flopped about on the rocky black surface of Nowhere and with lightning speed twisted around and fastened its jaws on the warforged’s left leg.

The construct displayed no sign of pain or distress as he bent down and slammed his fist hard onto the shark’s head. The beast quivered from nose to tail but didn’t release its hold on the warforged’s leg. The construct hit the shark two more times before the creature finally ceased moving. The warforged then pried the fish’s jaws from his leg and stepped free of the animal’s mouth. Several triangular teeth were embedded in the wooden portions of the warforged’s leg, primarily in his ankle and calf, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“This shark was disturbing the merfolk down below, so I thought I’d bring it on up and see if anyone would like it. I’d rather not throw it back since it’s likely to just draw more scavengers now that it’s dead.”

The warforged spoke in the measure emotionless tones common to its kind, with a hollow metallic quality to them, similar to what a flesh and blood being might sound like speaking through an armored helmet.

A male shifter wearing only a pair of deerskin pants stepped forward.

“I’ll take it,” he said in a guttural voice. “Our cook knows how to do up a shark right.”

Ghaji looked to Diran to gauge his friend’s reaction to the shifter. Shifters were descendants of humans and lycanthropes, and while they couldn’t transform into true animals, they could assume a more bestial aspect that granted them greater strength
and speed when they wished. The priests of the Silver Flame had long ago hunted pure lycanthropes to the point of near extinction, and the Church’s current position, at least as far as Ghaji understood it, was that shifters were
not
true lycanthropes and thus
not
intrinsically evil. Even so, some of the more radical priests of the Silver Flame were still suspicious of shifters, if they didn’t outright despise them. Diran had never evidenced any prejudice toward shifters since Ghaji had known him, but then again, he didn’t seem overly fond of them either. Aside from a slight pursing of his lips, Diran showed no reaction to the shifter’s presence.

The warforged nodded to the shifter and picked up the dead shark as if it weighed nothing, though Ghaji guessed the beast must weigh a thousand pounds or more. The construct followed the shifter over to one of the rowboats resting at the shore’s edge. The shifter pushed the boat back into the water and the warforged waded into the surf alongside it, still holding onto the shark. The shifter tied a rope around the tiger shark’s tail and then the warforged placed the dead fish in the water. The shifter began rowing toward one of the two-masted vessels anchored offshore, towing the shark behind him. As the shifter rowed past the
Zephyr
, he gave the elemental sloop an appreciative, and Ghaji thought somewhat covetous, look. The shifter continued past the
Zephyr
, rowing with swift, strong strokes, no doubt wishing to get the shark to his vessel before any other hungry sea creatures were attracted by its corpse.

The warforged turned and headed back to shore, and Yvka stepped forward to greet him.

Warforged had no facial muscles with which to express their feelings, but the construct’s voice contained hints of both
surprise and pleasure as he said, “My friend! What are you doing here?”

The elf-woman stepped up to the warforged and reached up to put her hand on his shoulders in greeting. The warforged made no move to touch her, which Ghaji thought wise. The construct might well crush the slender elf-woman if he tried to embrace her.

“I got tired of trying to find work in Port Verge, so I thought I’d try Skairn, and if that doesn’t work out, maybe Tantamar. I tell you, Flotsam, it’s getting damned difficult for a juggler to find honest work these days.”

“Indeed,” Flotsam replied. He lowered his voice before continuing. “Your employment situation must be most dire for you to risk bringing the
Zephyr
out into the open.”

“It is,” Ykva said. “I thought I’d stop here along the way on the off-chance you’d be about. I’m glad I did.”

“As am I.” Flotsam turned his head to look at Diran and Ghaji. “I saw you standing next to those two a moment ago. Friends of yours?”

Ghaji detected a deeper question beneath the warforged’s words, and he sensed that if Yvka said no, Diran and he would be in big trouble.

“They are.” She led Flotsam over to Diran and Ghaji. “These two gentleman were in need of passage, and I was happy to give them a ride.” She smiled. “For a fee, of course.”

“Naturally,” the warforged said.

Ghaji frowned. Yvka had made no mention of a fee before this.

“I am pleased to meet you, Flotsam,” Diran said. “My name—”

“—is Stendar,” Yvka quickly said, “and his half-orc companion is Thon. They are agents of a Sharn merchant who specializes in importing unique and exotic items. They’ve been traveling the Principalities searching for new wares to add to their employer’s stock.”

The warforged nodded. “I see. It is good to meet both of you. Any friend of Ardella’s is a friend of mine.”

Flotsam stuck out a large three-fingered hand for them to shake. Diran did so, then Ghaji. Touching the warforged’s hand was like touching that of a living statue, but at least Flotsam was careful to keep his grip gentle.

“How has your trip been?” Flotsam asked. “Have you met with much success?”

“Some,” Diran said, “but not as much as we’d like.”

“Ah. Well, perhaps your fortunes will change for the better now that you travel with Ardella. She’s something of a good luck charm.”

“Really?” Ghaji muttered. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Flotsam turned to look at Ghaji, the green fire in his eyes burning more intensely.

“He’s jesting,” Yvka said. Then in a mock-whisper, she added, “In truth, I think he has a crush on me.”

Ghaji blushed but said nothing.

Flotsam looked at the half-orc a moment longer before the green glow in his eyes dimmed to its normal intensity. The warforged turned to face Yvka once more. “What news do you bring from Port Verge?”

“Bad news, I fear,” Yvka said. “Last night the Black Fleet struck the town.”

Though Yvka kept her voice quiet, a number of the other
people on the island turned in their direction, and the news was quickly picked up and spread throughout the crowd.

“Bad news indeed,” Flotsam said. “Were Prince Kolberkon’s Diresharks able to capture any of the raiders?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Yvka said, “but then we departed soon after the raid ended.”

“I see. I’m glad that you three managed to escape the Black Fleet,” Flotsam said.

“One of our companions did not,” Diran said grimly.

“You have my condolences.”

“We’d like more than that,” Yvka said. “Might you tell my friends the stories you’ve heard about the Black Fleet?”