The Thieves of Blood: Blade of the Flame - Book 1 (4 page)

Ghaji nodded to Redbeard’s two companions, then turned and started back toward his own table.

“Feel better?” Diran asked as the half-orc took his seat once more.

Ghaji nodded. “We had a nice, civilized discussion and came to a mutual understanding.”

Redbeard’s associates were glaring at them, faces contorted in expressions of murderous fury. The serving girl came by again, this time with a mug for Ghaji. She cooled the ale, gave Ghaji a wink, then departed. Ghaji watched her go, his gaze lingering on her swaying hips. Diran didn’t blame him; they were an impressive sight.

Makala took Diran’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “It’s getting stuffy in here. I think I’d like to go outside and cool off in the night air.”

Diran glanced around the tavern. More than a few of the patrons were scowling in their direction, and some had their hands on their weapons. Whoever Redbeard was, he was evidently well liked in Port Verge, or the other patrons were
simply bored and looking for a fight to entertain themselves.

“Sounds good to me.” Diran tossed a few coins on the table as a tip for their server. “Coming, Ghaji?”

Ghaji looked around before replying. “I think I’ll stay here and finish my ale, if you don’t mind. That’ll give you two a chance to get reacquainted. Who knows? Maybe I’ll make some more new friends.” The half-orc grinned, baring his lower incisors.

“Very well, but if you do, try not to play rough,” Diran said. “I’d rather not return to discover than a justicar arrested you and shipped you off to Dreadhold.”

Ghaji chuckled. “I’ll play nice.” The half-orc glanced toward Redbeard’s table. The loud-mouthed sailor was still unconscious, but his two companions had their hands in easy reach of their weapons. “Well … nice enough, anyway.”

O
nce Diran and Makala were outside the tavern, Makala didn’t take her hand from his arm, and he made no move to pull away from her. Though it was full night, everbright lanterns mounted on iron poles illuminated the streets. The light was a soft yellow-green that gave off an eerie glow, especially when, as now, mist from the sea rolled in. There were others on the street—couples like themselves, drunken revelers who’d likely been thrown out of one tavern and were searching for another, beggars who sat against buildings, holding forth wooden bowls and asking for whatever small coins passersby could spare.

Though it was summer, the night air was cool, and Makala drew her cloak around herself and walked closer to Diran, her hip pressed against his. Diran tried not to think about how good her body felt next to his, but he failed dismally.

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing in Port Verge,” Diran said.

“Neither have you,” she countered.

Diran smiled. “True enough.”

An awkward silence fell between them, and they continued to walk for several moments without saying anything. Finally, Makala said, “Port Verge is a pleasant town—not so large or modern as Regalport, perhaps, but it has its charms.”

“Prince Kolberkon wouldn’t agree with you, I’m afraid,” Diran said. “He’s somewhat jealous of Regalport’s standing as the jewel of the Principalities. Rumor has it that he desires to build the town up until it challenges Regalport’s claim to the title.”

“What a shame,” Makala said. “I rather like it the way it is.”

Diran stopped and pointed northward. “Do you see that manor high on the northwestern hill overlooking the sea?”

The land Port Verge proper was built on was flat for the most part, with a gradual slope down to the sea, but the nobles who lived there—Prince Kolberkon chief among them—lived in luxurious manors in the hills that lay just outside the town limits. While the manors themselves were little more than shadowy shapes at this distance, lights burned in their windows, dotting the hills with points of illumination.

Makala looked where Diran was pointing and nodded.

“That’s the manor home of Prince Kolberkon. It’s said that from up there he can keep an eye on the entire town as well as the sea beyond.”

“There are few lights burning in the prince’s manor,” Makala said. “I doubt he’s keeping watch on much of anything tonight.”

Diran smiled. “Probably not.”

Though he hadn’t planned it, Diran realized they were headed for the eastern docks. The tang of salt in the air grew stronger, accompanied by a slight fishy odor that Diran, who’d spent his early childhood in the Principalities, though not in Port Verge, knew came from the old fishing boats moored at the docks. Since Port Verge was a seatown, the docks were the main hub of all activity. The eastern docks were where the fishing boats put in, and numerous fish markets were located nearby. The central docks were reserved for merchant and trading vessels, with warehouses and shops located a bit further inland. The western docks were where the town’s higher-ranking merchants and noble families kept their private vessels, and past those were the prince’s docks, where not only Kolberkon’s personal vessels were berthed but also the ships of his fleet, the aptly named Diresharks.

As they continued toward the docks, it was Diran who first broke the silence.

“So … why are you here?”

“Believe it or not, looking for you.”

Diran was momentarily taken aback. Of all the answers she could’ve given, he hadn’t anticipated that on. He tried to keep his tone light as he replied.

“I thought you said I wasn’t a target.”

“I did and you’re not. Just like you, I’m no longer an assassin. Well, not
just
like you. I haven’t entered into the priesthood or anything, but I no longer work for Emon.”

Emon Gorsedd was a mercenary warlord who specialized in training assassins that he would then hire out to the highest bidder. Actually Emon did more than merely recruit his trainees; he acquired children, sometimes through legal means, most often not, and made them his slaves. He then trained them
ruthlessly in the art of killing, transforming them into highly skilled and completely amoral murderers. To solidify his control over his young charges, Emon manipulated them into allowing evil spirits to share their physical forms. These spirits not only helped dampen the children’s natural empathy so they could kill more efficiently, they made it impossible for Emon’s assassins to even think about leaving him.

Diran and Makala had both been among Emon’s “children.” They had grown up together, as close as brother and sister. When they reached adolescence, they’d become even closer, much closer, but soon after his last mission for Emon, they’d had a falling out. Once he was free of Emon’s control and studying the way of the Silver Flame, he’d often entertained thoughts of returning to Emon’s compound and attempting to free Makala, though he’d never acted on those thoughts. He’d still harbored hurt feelings over their parting, and more, he feared she’d only send him away or worse, try to kill him on sight. Now he wished he’d put his resentment and fear aside and at least made the attempt.

“How did you manage such a feat?” Diran asked. “I thought I was the only one who’d ever escaped Emon by any means other than death.”

“You still are. Two years ago, Emon sent me to kill a rival warlord named Grathis Chessard who’d been stealing much of his business.” She smiled grimly. “Since the end of the Last War, there isn’t as much work to go around for assassins as there used to be. Somehow, Chessard knew I was coming—perhaps he had a spy in Emon’s service—but whatever the reason, the warlord was prepared, and when I entered his bedchamber one night, the man slew me with a single sword-thrust to the heart.”

“You look awfully good for a dead woman,” Diran said.

Makala laughed. “I didn’t remain dead for long. Chessard’s sister was a priestess, and he had her resurrect me. His plan was to place me under his control and send me back to slay Emon.”

Diran nodded appreciatively. “Sounds like a good plan. What went wrong?”

“When I died, the spirit that possessed me fled my body, so when I was returned to life, my mind and soul were once more my own. The priestess tried to cast some sort of control spell on me, but I resisted and the spell failed. I killed both the priestess and Chessard then fled the warlord’s home. Afterward, I made sure the word reached Emon that while I’d succeeded in my mission, I’d died in the process. As far as I know Emon believes it. At least I’ve never had one of his assassins come for me.”

“I wish I could say the same. I also wish it had occurred to me to fake my own death. It would’ve saved me a lot of trouble over the years.”

They’d reached the docks by now, but instead of walking alone the shoreline, as if by unspoken mutual consent they stepped onto the dock and began walking down it. Makala let go of Diran’s arm and took his hand. Diran didn’t discourage her.

“I knew that you’d escaped Emon too, though I had no idea you’d become priest of the Silver Flame. Once I was free as well, I had nowhere to go, nothing to do, and no idea how to go about making a life for myself. I’d spent my entire childhood learning to kill people for my master. I knew nothing else.”

Diran understood.

“I was tempted to continue working as an assassin—even went so far as to accept a job in Sharn, but without the spirit inside me …”

“You couldn’t kill your assigned target,” Diran finished.

“That’s right.”

They reached the end of the dock and stood looking out across the sea. The wooden dock bobbed gently beneath their feet as waves rolled in toward shore, and gulls drifted on the air around them, calling softly as if in deference to the night. While sea-mist hovered close to the water, the sky was clear and cloudless. The golden Ring of Siberys was clearly visible, as were a number of Eberron’s twelve moons, some full and glowing bright, others only slivers. The illumination they cast down upon the ocean made the sea-mist seem to glow with soft, pulsing light.

Makala continued. “Do you ever miss it, Diran?”

Even though he’d been expecting it, the word hit him like a jolt. For an instant his mind and body remember what it had felt like to play host to another entity. How every fiber of his being, every muscle and nerve-ending, every thought and emotion, had been intertwined with his dark spirit. The strength, the confidence, the clarity of thought and purpose were far more intoxicating than any drink or drug.

“Of course not,” Diran said. “You?”

“Never.”

They each knew the other was lying, but they also understood why and chose to let the matter rest there.

“Once I was free, I could no longer do the only work I was trained for,” Makala said. “I no longer
wanted
to do it, so I decided to try and find the only thing in my life that had ever been good.” She turned to look into Diran’s eyes and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “You.”

They stood like that, gazing into one another’s eyes for a long
moment. Then Diran leaned forward and kissed Makala. The kiss was slow and lingering, and he savored the sweet softness of her lips. He’d feared he would’ve forgotten their feel, their taste, but he hadn’t. Finally they broke apart and Makala put her arms around Diran and lay her hand on his chest. Diran wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

“I knew you’d been born in the Lhazaar Principalities, so I came here, hoping that one day you might return and that our paths would cross once more. I’ve been in the Principalities for almost a year now, wandering around, taking whatever honest—or nearly honest—work I could find, waiting and searching. Now at last my search is over.”

She moved in to kiss him once more, but he drew back, though without breaking their embrace. She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I still … care for you, but so much has happened since we last saw each other … we’ve both changed so much …”

Makala pulled out of his arms and took several steps away from Diran. She turned her back on him, folded her arms, and stared out at the glowing ocean mist.

“What are you saying? That you don’t love me anymore?” Her voice was tight with anger, hurt, and fear.

Diran felt incomplete without her in his arms, but though he ached to go to her side, he remained where he was.

“I’m saying that I don’t know if we can simply pick up where we left off.” He stepped up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “You tried to kill me, Makala.”

Her shoulders stiffened beneath his touch, but she didn’t reply. He opened his mouth to speak, intending to say something,
anything, but no words came to him. Instead, his attention was diverted by the sight of three large shadowy forms out on the water. At first he thought they might be a trio of creatures, sea dragons, perhaps, or even gigantic water striders, but as they came closer, he was able to make out their shapes more clearly and realized that he was looking at a trio of three-masted ships. The galleons were black, gliding across the glowing sea mist swift and silent. Huge towers rose from the stern of each vessel, supporting trapped air elementals bound into the form of rings. The elementals powered the ships, sending them across the surface of the water with great speed, the finlike structures that extended from the hulls of the ships slicing through the waves like finely honed blades.