Tim Waggoner - Sea of Death

She felt a small sharp-edged object slice into her. Not only was the damnable thing fashioned from silver, it also bore a holy blessing, imparted by Bastiaan, no doubt. The object burned like white fire inside of Nathifa, causing so much agony that she could no longer hold onto Makala. She ejected the vampire from her dark substance and flung Makala onto the dock. The woman landed near the priest and his half-orc companion, but Nathifa had no more attention to give the vampire. She had to expel the silver object from her body before-

She sensed tendrils of green mist curl onto the dock, stretch toward the ebon tentacles that supported her, and gently, almost lovingly brush against her dark substance.

Her time was up.

In his quarters aboard the Ship of Bones, Prince Moren sat in a chair fashioned from the unfulfilled dreams of dead sailors. Resting before him atop a table made from memories of regret and betrayal was the obsidian skull named Espial. Nathifa had bartered the skull in order to obtain the material she needed to repair her damaged vessel, and Moren had agreed not to leave Espial alone for a short time to give the lich an opportunity to achieve her vengeance. Moren had kept his word. He hadn't laid a finger on the skull, though that hadn't stopped him from examining it in other ways. It was a most intriguing object. The lich used it to communicate with Vol-or rather the Lich Queen used it to pass along her orders to Nathifa. But Espial served a dual purpose: it was also the lich's phylactery.

Prince Moren reached out and lifted Espial off the table. The skull was about to serve a third purpose. Nathifa's lifeforce was contained inside, and Moren-like the rest of his cursed crew-fed on the life essence of others. And the Prince was hungry.

Moren raised the skull to his mouth and, as if Espial were nothing more than a piece of rotten fruit, he pressed his decayed teeth onto its obsidian surface and bit down hard.

He chewed, swallowed, and grinned as black juice dribbled over his dry, leathery lips and onto the exposed bone of his chin. Delicious.

He took another bite.

Nathifa screamed.

But not for very long.

Diran watched as the lich's form broke apart into scraps of shadow that swirled about like black leaves before dissipating like smoke. He didn't know how-his arrowhead certainly hadn't done the deed-but he knew that Nathifa had been destroyed. Tresslar rushed to Diran's side and helped him to a sitting position. The priest looked out over the bay. The greenish mist that had covered the water was receding, and Diran could sense the presence of an evil much greater than Nathifa withdrawing. He was too hurt to worry about it now. Whatever the mist was, and whatever role it had played in the events here tonight would have to remain a mystery for the time being. Diran had more important tasks to tend to. He placed his hand over his heart, closed his eyes, and willed the healing power of the Silver Flame to work its divine magic through him. He then repeated the procedure for Ghaji, and when both men were whole and healthy once more, Tresslar helped them both to stand.

Makala stood on the dock, gazing out to the sea. Diran didn't know what she was looking at, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. He turned to Leontis, fearing they would still have a battle on their hands if the lycanthropic priest remained in the grip of a killing frenzy. But Leontis stood apart from Haaken's ravaged body. He was covered with blood, but he was human once again, his fury spent. Without speaking, Diran, Ghaji, and Tresslar walked over to examine Haaken. Makala joined them a moment later.

Haaken had also returned to human form, but he was a grisly sight. His chest and abdomen had been ripped open, ribs broken, internal organs shredded or torn out and cast aside by Leontis in his bestial fury. There was blood everywhere, and Haaken was covered in it, so much so that his skin looked black in the moonlight. But even mutilated as he was, Haaken was not dead.

Haaken coughed, and a froth of blood oozed from between his lips. Then he spoke in a gurgling, wet whisper.

"I can… already feel myself… healing." He coughed again and swallowed. "Hurts. But… I can take it. I'm… going to kill every last one of you… bastards."

Ghaji had retrieved his axe, and with a thought he caused its flame to ignite. "Big talk from a man who's been gutted like a fish. Since Leontis has already gone to the trouble to fillet you, maybe I should go ahead and cook you." Ghaji started forward, but Diran placed a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder to stop him.

"Fire won't kill him, Ghaji. You know that."

"Maybe not normally," the half-orc growled. "But wounded as he is, flame just might kill him. Let's try it and see." He glared at Haaken. "If nothing else, it'll make me feel better."

Diran shook his head. "There's only one way to be sure." The priest walked over to the statue of Nerthatch and gripped the hilt of the silver dagger protruding from the chest. He pulled, and though the dagger was wedged tight, Diran managed to work it free. He then walked over to Haaken and stood by the lycanthrope's side. Haaken's heart was visible, and though it had several large gashes in it, the organ continued to beat, and Diran could see that the gashes were already beginning to heal over.

"Are you going to… stab me?" Haaken asked. His voice had grown stronger and steadier in the few moments since he'd last spoken. "Coward!" Haaken spat a gob of bloody sputum at Diran, but it fell far short of hitting the priest.

"Go ahead, Diran," Ghaji said. "If he heals, he'll just go on killing. Worse, he'll spread his infection to others. He doesn't deserve to live. He's just another damned monster."

Diran looked at Haaken, then he looked at Leontis, and finally at Makala. He remembered what Leontis had told him during the voyage from Trebaz Sinara.

You are Purified, a servant of the Flame, and a force for Good in a world that sorely needs people like you. Don't let your grief turn you back into a heartless killer.

"Let the city watch or the Sea Dragons decide what to do with him," Diran said. "I've had enough of death for a while." He turned his back on Haaken and started to walk away, but Makala took hold of his wrist and stopped him.

Diran turned to her, a questioning look on his face. She reached out and gently took the dagger from his hand. As soon as her flesh came in contact with the silver hilt, her hand began to sizzle and smoke, but she gritted her teeth and held onto the blade. She stepped over to Haaken's side, knelt down, and plunged the blade into his heart. Haaken's eyes went wide and he let out a last gasp as he died.

Makala stood and turned back to Diran.

"I never did like the son of a whore."

Ten days later, in the hour just before dawn, the companions once more stood upon Regalport's central dock. A longboat was moored on the dock's northern side, and the Turnabout, whole and hardy once more, floated out in the middle of the bay. Onu, wearing his human shape and clad in his signature crimson jacket, stood gazing at the northern horizon.

"Looks like we're going to have good sailing weather today," the changeling said. He glanced at Hinto for confirmation, and the halfling nodded.

Diran smiled. "It seems as if you're well on your way to becoming a true seaman, Onu."

Onu reached down and patted Hinto on the back. "My recent gains in nautical knowledge are due entirely to the tutelage of my new first mate."

"Do you really think you'll be able to pay off Thokk's debt?" Ghaji asked. "From what you've told us, he spoke little about it to you. Do you even know where to start?"

Onu shrugged. "As to whether or not I'll succeed, only the gods of fortune may say. But I must try." The changeling smiled. "It's my own debt to Thokk, you see. We'll return to Kolbyr and begin there. Thokk did a great deal of business in that city, and perhaps there are some there who knew him better than I. At any rate, it seems a logical place to start." The changeling looked at Tresslar and smiled. "Besides, I have a passenger to conduct there."