Tim Waggoner - Thieves of Blood

Diran frowned. “Onkar… why does that name sound so familiar?”

The commander stopped within ten feet of them, and though he seemed relaxed, Ghaji could sense an underlying tension building in the man, as if he were a predatory animal readying himself to strike.

“Seeing as how you’re all about to die, it doesn’t really matter where you heard my name, does it?” Onkar reached for his cutlass.

Makala took a step forward, though she did not attack. Ghaji judged the distance to Onkar’s head, preparing to hurl his axe and split the man’s skull if need be.

Onkar looked appraisingly at Makala, then he took his hand away from his cutlass and smiled at her.

“You step forward to draw my attention in hope of distracting me from what your friends are doing. You’re a spirited one, but I also see a coldness within your soul. You’re one who’s touched evil and been touched in return. Most interesting. I know someone who’d love to meet you.” Onkar turned to Diran, then gestured at the cart which was still half full of unconscious men and women. “Keep this lot if you want. I’ll be taking her.”

The Black Fleet commander stepped toward Makala, grinning, his eyes blazing like twin crimson fires.

Makala loosed a bolt from her crossbow, but before the shaft could strike Onkar, his hand lashed out in a blur and plucked the bolt from the air.

Onkar grinned, baring his teeth and displaying a pair of ivory fangs. “Surprise,” he said. He dropped the bolt. Moving almost faster than Ghaji’s eyes could track, the man, the vampire, struck Makala with a backhanded blow. The impact knocked Makala off her feet, and she fell hard and didn’t move.

“Makala!” Diran shouted. He started toward the still form of his former lover then stopped himself. He turned to face Onkar, features twisted into a mask of cold hatred.

While Onkar’s attention was on Diran, Ghaji hurled his axe toward the raider commander’s unprotected head. The weapon tumbled end over end as it flew at the grinning man. Though Onkar didn’t take his gaze off Diran, his hand reached out and snatched the axe out of the air as easily as if it were hovering motionless before him. Without turning to look at Ghaji, Onkar returned the axe with a simple flick of his wrist. The weapon came spinning back toward Ghaji, and the half-orc barely managed to jump out of the way before the axe struck. The weapon continued flying past him and eventually came to a clanging, skittering stop in the street a dozen yards away.

Onkar didn’t appear to move, but one moment he was just standing there and the next he had Makala tossed over his shoulder. “Well, it’s been lovely, but I have to take my leave. The Black Fleet’s style is hit and run, and now that we’ve finished hitting, it’s time to start running.”

“Hold, Onkar!” Diran raised his hand high and a silvery glow began to emanate from his palm as he summoned the holy power of the Silver Flame itself to repel the vampire. Onkar averted his gaze, but he held his ground.

“Before you do that, priest, take a look at the cart.”

Diran, Ghaji, and Yvka looked at the bodies of the men and women who remained in the back of the cart. They were covered by a squirming, writhing blanket of rats, as were the victims lying on the ground.

“My little friends are just crawling right now,” Onkar said, “but if you make even the slightest move against me, I’ll tell them to start biting. Do you know how long it’d take that many rats to strip the flesh off their bones?”

Diran glared at the vampire commander, silvery light waxing and waning in his palm, as if it couldn’t decide whether or not to be born. Finally, Diran closed his fist around the silvery spark and snuffed it out.

“Not long,” the priest admitted and lowered his hand to his side.

“That’s right,” Onkar said. “Don’t any of you try to follow me. My furry friends will keep watching you long after I’m gone.” The raider commander inclined his head in a mocking manner. “A good night to you all.”

The vampire turned, and with an unconscious Makala still slung over his shoulder, he began walking away. Though Onkar didn’t appear to be hurrying, he moved far more swiftly down the street than he should have, and then the vampire turned a corner and was lost to the night.

Ghaji turned to Diran, intending to ask his friend what they should do next, but the priest was staring intently at the mound of vermin crawling over the unconscious men and women who remained in the cart. The rats seemed to stare back at Diran with their beady black eyes, and Ghaji wondered if the creatures truly would still bite now that the vampire had departed or if Onkar had been lying to them, in which case they were letting him get away for nothing.

“The rats are under evil’s influence, though they are but pawns,” Diran said. “The situation has some distinct parallels to possession, though it isn’t precisely analogous. Even so…”

Diran raised his hand and this time the Silver Flame instantly blossomed forth from his palm. The power of the Silver Flame blazed outward, casting its bright blue-white light onto the squirming pile of rodents. The rats screeched, squealed and began scuttling frantically over the raiders’ unconscious captives. At first Ghaji feared Diran’s ploy hadn’t worked and the vermin were even now beginning to gnaw hunks of flesh from their victims’ bodies, then the rats’ exertions began to lessen until finally the small beasts stopped moving altogether and became calm.

Diran closed his hand into a fist and the silvery flame went out. A moment passed, then one by one the rats began jumping down from the cart and fleeing toward whatever shadows they could find. When the last rat was gone, Diran ran forward to examine the people remaining in the cart.

“It worked,” he said with obvious relief. “Now for Makala!” The priest took off running in the direction Onkar had taken, Yvka following. Ghaji paused only to retrieve his axe and then hurried to catch up.

Diran was standing at the end of the dock when the others got there. The priest was covered with sweat and breathing hard as he stared out to sea, shoulders slumped in defeat. The Black Fleet had set sail, the ships visible only as a trio of shadowy shapes melding with the darkness as they drew away from Port Verge.

They were too late.

Of the Diresharks there was no sign. If the Sharks didn’t get on the water soon, they’d never be able to track the raiders. Makala, and everyone else who had been taken, would be lost forever.

“The question before us now is how best to give chase,” Diran said. “Do we charter a ship, and if so, with what funds?”

“Maybe we could wrangle a berth aboard one of the Dire-sharks’ vessels,” Ghaji said. “They’re bound to set sail in pursuit of the Black Fleet, and they might want to have a priest of the Silver Flame along with them when they finally catch up to the raiders, especially once they learn that a vampire commands the raiders.”

“Perhaps,” Diran said, “but there’s a good chance Kolberkon will prefer to send a priest of his acquaintance along. He’s bound to be distrustful of strangers after tonight’s raid, so it would take some effort to convince him.”

“I have a ship,” Yvka interrupted.

Both Diran and Ghaji turned to look at her.

“She’s not that large,” the elf-woman said, “but she’s fast.”

“Fast is good,” Ghaji said.

Waves crashed against the rocks, sending sprays of seawater into the air. The footing was treacherous, and it didn’t help that they were laden down with full traveler’s packs. Ghaji had already fallen a couple of times, once cutting his forearm on a sharp outcropping so badly they’d been forced to pause for Diran to heal the wound. The half-orc was soaked from head to toe, and the wind coming off the Lhazaar Sea made him shiver. Both Diran and Yvka were equally as wet, and presumably equally as miserable, but neither of them showed it. The elf-woman picked her way carefully over the slippery rocks, moving with a steady confidence as if she wasn’t concerned about the possibility of falling. Diran followed right behind her, and though as a human he couldn’t match the elven grace with which Yvka moved, he too seemed confident, as if he scampered over wet jagged rocks every day.