Tim Waggoner - Forge of the Mindslayers

Nevertheless, he stepped forward, took hold of the lid's edge and raised it up an inch.

Eneas stepped back quickly as pale white fingers-feminine fingers-emerged. They curled around the edge of the lid and lifted it the rest of the way off the sarcophagus. The lid wasn't attached, and the heavy stone cover fell off to the side, striking the floor of the wooden hull with a loud thump that made Eneas wince. Then she sat up and stared straight ahead, motionless, unblinking, as if she wasn't aware of his presence. Then slowly she turned to look at Eneas, her head pivoting on her neck with unnaturally smooth precision, as if she weren't a being of flesh and blood but rather some sort of mechanical construct in human form. She blinked once, twice, and then awareness returned to her gaze. She recognized him, and she smiled, displaying long, white incisors.

Then, moving with the speed and grace of a jungle cat, she leaped out of the coffin and rushed at Eneas. He dropped the light gem, and as physical contact with the mystical object was broken, its illumination winked out. Eneas felt the woman's small hands take hold of him in grips of iron, felt her teeth sink into the soft flesh of his neck, and then a darkness far worse than the absence of light came for him and he felt nothing more.

Makala raised her head and with the back of a hand wiped a smear of blood from her mouth. She looked down at the fat man lying on the floor of the hold next to her, his skin pale, breathing shallow, blood oozing from the twin puncture marks on his throat. Without realizing it, she leaned forward, intending to lick the wounds clean, but she stopped herself. She might not be human anymore, but that didn't make her an animal.

She stood and took three steps back from Eneas, lest she be tempted to feed on him further. What she'd already taken from the man would have to suffice; if she drank anymore, there was a good chance he would die. There was a time when that wouldn't have made a difference to her, a time when she would've taken his life as casually as she might snap her fingers and for lesser reason than ensuring her own survival. Regardless of what she'd become, she was no longer a killer, at least, not a mindless one. If she was going to kill, then she would do so when and where she chose and for justifiable reasons-not simply because she was hungry.

She felt Eneas's blood suffusing her body, lessening but not alleviating the pervasive chill in her undead flesh. In many ways, that was the worst part about being a vampire. No matter the temperature, no matter how much she fed, she was always cold. She felt the boat rock beneath her feet as a wave rolled in to shore, and sudden nausea twisted her gut, threatening to make her vomit the blood she'd taken from Eneas. She clamped her mouth shut tight, and though she no longer had any reason to breathe, she took slow, even breaths until the boat stopped rocking and her nausea subsided.

For all their strengths, vampires had a surprising number of weaknesses, as Makala had found out over the last several months. One of those was an aversion to crossing running water. Why that should be, she didn't know, but she'd experienced the discomfort too often to dismiss it as merely her imagination. She'd been lucky, though. She'd discovered the obsidian sarcophagus on one of the elemental galleons that Diran and the others had left behind when they'd departed Grimwall after defeating Erdis Cai. Once a vampire lay inside and the sigil of Vol affixed to the lid was activated, he or she could cross running water without the least discomfort. She believed that the vampire sailor Onkar-once Edris Cai's first mate and the one who'd changed her-had employed the sarcophagus in order to continue plying the waters of the Lhazaar Sea. Unfortunately, the sarcophagus had one serious drawback: once the lid was sealed and the enchantment activated, it could not be opened from within. Whoever rested inside the sarcophagus was dependent on someone outside to release her, hence her need for Eneas. Not only did he transport her across water, he also released her when they arrived at their destination.

The attack of nausea had taken the edge off her hunger, so she felt safe in approaching Eneas and kneeling next to him once more.

"You've done well," she said in a soft, almost dreamy voice. "Now I want you to remain on the ship until I return. You will then seal me into the sarcophagus before dawn and release me once again the following sunset. Do you understand?"

Eneas's eyes fluttered open. They were wide and staring, but he nodded once.

"Very good. Rest now-you've earned it."

Eneas's eyes closed and a moment later he began snoring.

Makala stood and regarded her-for lack of a better word-servant. Then she turned toward the open hatch above her, crouched, and with an effortless grace leaped onto the deck. She silently disembarked the Boundless and walked down the dock to shore, her footsteps making no sound on the weathered wooden planks.

What are we going to do?" Ghaji asked.

He and Diran stood in the street outside the King Prawn. The others were still inside, watching as Yvka performed a juggling act for the inn's patrons. While the elf-woman was an operative of the Shadow Network-which officially didn't exist-she posed as a wandering player. It might be a disguise, but she was nevertheless a damn fine entertainer, and Ghaji wished he was inside watching her along with everyone else. Diran had asked him to step outside for a breath of fresh air, and since fresh air was difficult to come by in this part of Perhata, Ghaji had known his friend really wanted to talk to him alone, so here Ghaji was, standing next to Diran, his back against the stone wall of the inn, trying to ignore the sounds of laughter and applause drifting from the common room as Yvka performed.

Full night had fallen and a clammy fog was rolling in off the Gulf of Ingjald, turning the world into an indistinct ghostly image of itself. The fog muffled sound and defied even Ghaji's orcish night vision. He had the sensation that he and Diran were the only two living people left in Perhata, and though he knew it was only his imagination, the feeling was an eerie one and not easily dismissed.

"About what?" Diran said.

"Cathmore. Where do we start looking for him?"

Diran gazed into the fog, and Ghaji wondered what his friend saw in its roiling gray murk. "I'm not sure we should-at least not right away."

"I'm surprised. I thought you'd be ready to set out on the hunt right away."

Diran turned and smiled. "You've come to know me too well, Ghaji. You're right; ordinarily I would want to begin searching for Cathmore immediately, but I've been thinking about Asenka." He gave Ghaji a sideways look, then hurried to add, "I mean, ah, about what she told us regarding the origins of the enmity between Perhata and Kolbyr. Remember?"

"Sure, I remember. I especially remember the way the two of you looked at one another."

Diran scowled. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Ghaji grinned. "Of course you don't.

In truth, he was pleased that Diran seemed attracted to the commander of the Sea Scorpions and she to him. The priest hadn't shown any interest in women at all since the night Makala had died and been reborn as a vampire. While Ghaji regretted what had happened to Makala, he knew it wasn't healthy for his friend to mourn her loss forever. Perhaps Diran was finally showing signs of putting his grief behind him and getting on with his life. Ghaji could only hope so.

"What about the conflict between the cities?" Ghaji asked.

Diran looked relieved that Ghaji had abandoned his teasing. "Asenka said it stems from a curse-a curse that has been carried down to this day. If the curse could somehow be removed…"