The War Of The Lance (28 page)

Four it was - for the space of a single breath. Then, two more rose from the water. They
seemed less substantial than the others; Vandor wondered if that meant they had been dead
longer.

Stel glanced heavenward, then at his captive. “There is the answer to your protests,
Vandor Grizt. Your blood runs truer than you - than I - thought.”

The dark cleric looked at the night sky. The clouds

were thickening and the winds were rising. “Time is limited! We must not try the Sea
Queen's admirable patience!”

Holding the dagger before him, Stel summoned forth the undead that had been first to
appear. With his other hand, the cleric removed the tiny skull on the chain and handed it
to Vandor's ancestor. “You are mine. You know what I desire, do you not?”

The helm rattled as the ghost slowly nodded.

Vandor Grizt found himself sympathetic to his ancestors. It was not right that they be
used as menial servants. Perhaps, he thought desperately, if blood truly called to blood,
he could send them back to their rest.

“Don't listen to him!” Vandor shouted. “Go! Go back.” His cries were cut off as one
draconian put a scaly hand over his mouth and the other twisted his arm painfully.

It all proved to be for nothing. His shambling ancestors paid no attention to him, but
listened obediently to the masked cleric who had summoned them.

“Make haste, then,” Stel continued, ignoring his prisoner's outburst. “The talisman will
guide you. Bring what you can, but most important, bring the Pendant of Chemosh! Its image
is burned into the device I gave you. You cannot help but be drawn to it, no matter how
deep it be buried!”

The six spectral figures floated from the ship ... and sank into the murky depths.

I'M FINISHED! Vandor thought. There was nothing he could do but wait until Prefect Stel
sacrificed him. He morbidly wondered which god was going to get him, Chemosh or the Sea
Queen. Chemosh, surely, for Stel had already given up a great deal to the Sea Queen.

“Great Chemosh, magnificent Zeboim,” Vandor muttered, “do either of you really want
someone as insignificant and unworthy as I? Surely a nice draconian would do better!”

Captain Kruug had finally regained enough nerve to rejoin the priest. The minotaur even
dared peer over the rail after the undead. “By the Mistress's Eyes! I've never seen such
before!”

Stel smiled. “Yes, the spell worked quite well.” "As you say. How long will . . . will it
be before they

return?“ The minotaur was clearly unnerved. ”YOU mean how long will it be until we can
depart?“ Kruug glared at him, but finally nodded. ”Yes . . . how

long? The skies grow darker. The clouds are gathering and the sea is beginning to stir. It
never pays to overtax the good nature of the Sea Queen. She's known to change her mind,
prefect."

“It will not be long, captain. My servants do not face the barriers that stop the living.
No matter how deeply sunken are the artifacts I seek, the undead will find them in short
order. The talisman I gave them will further shorten their search. I, too, am trying to
expedite things, you see.”

“Good.” Kruug straightened to his full height. “I never thought I'd be saying it, but I
look forward to dry land this night.” He thrust a thumb at Vandor Grizt. “And what about
that one?”

Stel's hand stroked the dagger. “He is the last order of business. When we are about to
depart, I will sacrifice him to Zeboim as a final gift.”

The draconians looked at each other and muttered. Vandor took his cue from them. He did
some fast calculating. The nearest Temple of Chemosh had to be at least twenty days'
journey from here . . .

“You give me to Zeboim, Master Stel? Not Chemosh? You should really give this some lengthy
consideration 1 If I were the wondrous Chemosh, I would be offended at such shabby
treatment!”

“Chemosh will understand. Chemosh is wise. Now cease your prattle; I know what I do.” But
Stel looked uncertain. “We invade her domain. We must make restitution.” Was he trying to
convince himself?

The minotaur growled. “It would not be good to retract a promise to the Sea Queen. She
would be offended.”

“I had no intention of doing so,” Stel snapped. He pointed into the dark waters. “There!
You see?”

The draconians, curious, dragged their captive to the side with them, enabling Vandor to
see much more than he wanted.

First one helmed head, then another appeared from the murky water. Slowly, as if
constrained to obey the one who wielded power over them against their wishes, the ragged
shapes rose. Each carried within its skeletal arms

encrusted artifacts. Stel's reluctant servants bowed before the cleric of Chemosh and
piled the various jewels, scroll cases, staves, and weapons on the deck at his feet.

Everyone else backed away from the ghastly minions, but Stel stepped forward eagerly to
inspect his treasure. He picked up first one object, then another. His excitement swiftly
changed to frustration.

“These are useless! They are dead! There is little or no magic in most of them! Nothing!”
The cleric froze. “The Pendant of Chemosh is not here!”

Vandor noticed then that there were only five undead. The last of his unfortunate
ancestors had not returned; the one, in fact, who held the skull talisman. Had he somehow
broken free?

Clouds were beginning to gather. The wind blew stronger. The TAURON rocked. Prefect Stel
glared at his prisoner. “I see that I shall need more than a little blood. I think it is
time for you to join your ancestors in my quest, thief!”

“I assure you that I would make a useless corpse, Master Stel!” Vandor blurted,
struggling. The draconians dragged him to stand before the cleric. Vandor glanced briefly
at his sea-soaked forebears, who remained steadfastly oblivious to all around them. He
wondered what it would be like to exist so, figured he didn't have long before he found
out.

“Your blood will strengthen my hold, Vandor Grizt, and you shall be my messenger to the
Sea Queen. You should consider yourself honored; this will probably be the only thing of
significance you've ever done in your paltry life!”

“Hurry! The storm is strengthening,” Captain Kruug warned.

The draconians held Vandor over the altar. Recalling how his blood had sizzled upon
touching the hot metal, he twisted and turned, trying desperately to avoid it. One of the
guards finally used its claw to shove him down. Vandor yelped, then realized that he was
not being scalded. His relief was momentary, though; a fate worse than being scalded
awaited him.

One of the draconians leaned close and hissed, “If you say one more word, thief, I'll bite
off your tongue and eat it! I'm sick of your chatter!”

Vandor clamped his mouth tight. Trapped, he

searched frantically for some way out. His gaze lighted upon the eyeless visage of an
armored ghost, rising above the rail.

In its brown, skeletal hands it held two chains. One was the skull talisman Stel had given
it for the search. The other, much heavier, chain held a black crystal encased in an ivory
clasp.

“Master Stel, look!” Vandor cried. “You don't need me. He has returned!”

Thanks to Shinare! Grizt added silently.

The cleric beckoned the ghost to him. His ungodly servant raised the pendants high. Stel
snatched his talisman back, but seemed hesitant to touch the darkly glimmering creation in
the undead's other hand.

“Magnificent! Perfection!” Stel danced back and forth. Then, recalling where he was and
who was watching, the prefect quieted and carefully reached for his prize. All sound
silenced, save for the wind and the waves beating against the sides of the minotaur ship.

Vandor Grizt's ancestor did not at first seem inclined to relinquish the prize, but a
muttered word of power from the cleric forced it to release its hold. Skull mask eyed
skull face for a breath or two, then Prefect Stel forgot the impudence of his unliving
slave as he looked down at the pendant.

“The power has leeched away from most of the other prizes, but this still glows with life!
It is all I hoped for and more! At last it shall serve its purpose! At last I will take my
own rightful place as the greatest of my Lord Chemosh's loyal servants!”

Stel raised the thick chain over his head and lowered the pendant onto his chest. No crack
of thunder or blare of horns marked the cleric's triumph, but a horrible, breathless
stillness momentarily passed over the region.

Captain Kruug was the first who dared interrupt the cleric's worship. “Is that all, then?
Are we soon to leave this place?”

“Leave?” Stel was surprised by the suggestion. “We can't leave now! If this artifact still
survives, there MUST be others! I will send them down again! And, with this pendant, I can
summon hundreds of blindly obedient searchers!”

“You push our luck, human! There are limits - ”

“There are no limits! I will show you!” Raising his hands high, Prefect Stel cried strange
words. The black crystal began to shine with an eerie, grayish light.

Now, thunder rolled and lightning crashed. An enormous swell of water shook the TAURON.
Rain and hail poured down.

“Come to me!” roared the ghastly priest.

The water began to froth around them, as if the entire sea were coming to life. Captain
Kruug was either swearing or praying beneath his breath. He began bellowing orders. The
two draconians, absurdly obedient, fought to keep Vandor over the altar.

A huge wave broke over the deck, drenching Vandor and his guards. It became clear to
Vandor that he might DROWN before he could be sacrificed.

Stel ignored the tempest, ignored the maddened sea. He stared at the water in expectation.

Up and down the TAURON rocked, tossed about like a toy in a rushing stream. Another wave
knocked both Vandor and the draconians away from the altar. His two guards maintained
their hold on him and saved him from being washed overboard. One of the draconians grabbed
ahold of the rail and pulled Vandor and the other draconian closer. All three held on for
their lives.

And then ...

“Shinare!” Vandor gasped, spitting sea water from his mouth. “Has he raised ISTAR?”

It seemed so, at first. In the darkness, all Vandor could see was an enormous, irregular
landmass rising from the depths. The only feature he could make out for certain was a
peculiar ridge of high hills lined up neatly by twos and running the length of the land.
Then, as the mass rose still higher, two eyes gleamed bright in the darkness.

This was not an island.

“Shinare!” Vandor Grizt whispered. Beside him, the sivak hissed in fear.

“It's going to crush us!” a minotaur roared.

But as the head - a head resembling that of an enormous turtle - cleared the water, the
leviathan paused. It might have been some huge stone colossus carved by the ancients of
Istar, so still was it.

Stel shouted triumphantly. He was facing the

monster, the pendant of Chemosh held tight in one hand. Stel's ancient pendant might not
have summoned up

the legions of undead that the cleric had sought, but it had summoned up something far
more impressive. The draconians left the rail, dragging Vandor back to the altar.

“Surely this is no longer necessary!” he protested. “Master Stel has no time for this now!
We should not bother such a busy man!”

In response, the draconians threw Vandor over the blood-spattered bowl and waited for
orders.

“See what I have done!” Stel cried. “I have the power to raise monsters from the depths!”

“DEAD ONES, YES . . .” muttered Vandor.

“Yet, this is not what I expected,” Stel quieted, then gazed down at his prize. “I meant
to summon the dead of Istar, not this . . . this beast. This is not how the spell is
supposed to work. Time has wreaked havoc with the pendant. I shall have to do something
about that.”

Stel removed his gloves and began probing at the crystal. There was a SNAP and a tiny
burst of light. Stel cried out in pain. The crystal fell from the ivory casing.

With a wordless cry, Stel tried to catch the magical gem in midair, but he missed. Vandor
shut his eyes - prayed that the explosion of sorcery unleashed by the shattering crystal
would make his end swift.

The ebony gem struck the deck with a disappointing clatter. It rolled a moment, then slid
toward Vandor Grizt.

He reacted without thinking, seeing only a valuable jewel heading toward the sea. Vandor
put his foot out, caught the crystal between the sole of his boot and the deck. Grizt, the
draconians, and Prefect Stel exhaled in relief. Only then did Stel realize what Vandor was
doing.

“Stop him, you fools!”

Vandor Grizt stomped his foot down as hard as he could, trying desperately to crush the
damnable artifact. Something gave way and at first Vandor believed he had succeeded. But
try as he might, he could not reduce the thing to powder.

One of the draconians hit Vandor, dragging him back, away from the pendant.

Quickly Stel bent over and snatched up his prize. He inspected it for damage, then,
satisfied, tried to replace it in the clasp. The crystal would not stay. Stel studied the

clasp closer and cursed. “Broken!” Vandor smiled ruefully, though he could not help but

sigh over the precious loss. The pendant had survived the sinking of Istar and centuries
of burial in the depths of the Blood Sea, only to come to such an ignominious end.

Stel shook his fist at Vandor.

“You did this! You could not crush the jewel, but you cracked the framework around it.” He
thrust the gem close, so that Vandor could see the tiny, intricate workings that wrapped
around the ebony jewel, like skeletal fingers clutching a prized possession. One of them
had clearly broken off.

Whatever his fate now - and it certainly could get no worse - Vandor Grizt could die in
peace, knowing the monstrous pendant was destroyed.

“I see your look!” Stel hissed. “But I will build the pendant anew, thief! The framework
is nothing! It can readily be replaced! As long as I have the jewel I will... I will. . .”