"In the name of Paladine and all the Gods of Good, depart in peace, spirit," he said.
The cabin filled with a deep, long sigh. "Would that I could depart," said a low voice. "For I am tired beyond mea sure and desire rest."
"Who are you?" asked Kitiara.
"In life I was master of this vessel. My name is Pyrthis."
"He doesn't seem dangerous," Kitiara muttered to Sturm,
"but let's find a safer spot from that creature outside."
"The Gharm will not enter this cabin," the ghost said, "as long as I am here." Outside, the hellish thing shrieked, acknowledging the truth of the dead captain's words.
"What is the Gharm?" asked Sturm.
The indistinct figure drew closer and became more defined. Its legs did not move, and its arms stayed firmly by its sides. The ghost glided forward until Sturm and Kit could see deep, hollow eyes and a jaw that hung open, as slack as the face of a corpse. The voice issued from the mouth with out the lips moving at all.
"Once he was my friend, and then a curse laid us all low.
He became the Gharm, I, a walking spirit, and the crew of the Werival died in torment."
"Spirits walk for two reasons: to right an unavenged wrong, and to give warning to the living. Which is it, Cap tain? Why do you remain on this mortal plane?" asked
Sturm.
Another mournful sigh. "Know, my friends, that I bar gained with the forces of evil and lost." The ghost came clos er still, enough for Kitiara to see its dead white eyes and corpse pallor.
"I was a merchant captain, bold and enterprising, who never turned down a cargo for money. I plied the Sirrion Sea and traded north and east to the Blood Sea maelstrom. In my time, I carried all goods – from spices to slaves."
Sturm frowned. "You trafficked in misery," he said flatly.
"Aye, I did. Thank your gods that you still live and can make amends for any evil deeds you have committed! I am past saving now."
The poop deck overhead resounded with the tramp of feet. Kitiara listened nervously as the Gharm stamped on the boards. "What is that thing?" she demanded.
"Once my first mate and friend, Drott, who I trained in all the wily ways I knew. Our coffers grew fat and heavy with gold, and I grew satisfied, as men in their waning years are wont to do. But Drott was young and keen and always searching for the richest commission to be made. It was a fateful day when he fell in with the scaled warriors."
Sturm had a glimmer of recognition. "Do you mean dra conians'?" he asked.
"Aye, some have called them thus." Pyrthis's ghost loomed over Sturm. Though seemingly benign, its presence was oppressive, and Sturm began to sweat.
"The dragonmen had a rich proposition: that we carry a shipment of weapons and money for them from Nordmaar to Coastlund, there to rendezvous with other dragonmen arriving from the northern seas. Drott accepted their com mission and their money, thus damning us all." The ghost made a horrible rasping sound. "I am so weary…" The dead man's left arm came loose from his shoulder and fell silently to the floor. Kitiara flinched at the sight, more from surprise than disgust. She bent to pick up the gently glowing limb, but her hand passed right through it.
"We loaded sixty hundredweight of arms, and weighed anchor for Coastlund. We had a fair wind and made a swift passage. On the way, Drott schemed and plotted. He drew me into his plan, which was this: Since the dragonmen were barbarians and invaders, why should we not hold them up for as much gold as we could? They would pay doubly or triply for their swords, and we would have nothing to fear.
Who could they complain to? Their purpose was even more illicit than ours.
"I fell in with Drott's scheme. In truth, I despised the scaly killers and feared them greatly. To cheat them seemed both just and profitable."
The ghost paused and the silence grew long. Sturm finally said, "What happened when you reached Coastlund?"
Rasp. "A dragonship was there, waiting. The leader of the dragonmen came aboard to accept transfer of the weap ons. Drott laid out his demand for more money. The leader must have expected such a ploy, for he readily offered to pay half again the original price. Drott insisted on double the amount. The lizard resisted for a time, then conceded.
He departed for his ship and returned with a second chest of treasure. This time a human came with him, a dark cleric wearing a metal mask that mimicked a dragon's face. This one frightened me very much. He stood by, watching and saying nothing. Drott laughed and joked as the second box of money came on board. He was drunk with success, and when I ordered the crew to begin transferring the cargo to the dragonship, he drew me aside and whispered another wicked design in my ear. 'Shall we not keep some part of the cargo ourselves?' he said. 'Could we not wring a bit more sil ver from these flush pigeons?"'
"That was pretty stupid," Kitiara said, "with a boatload of draconians alongside."
"We did not fear their force, for our crew was numerous and skilled in the use of saber and pike. We did not sail the pirate-infested seas unprepared."
"But the dark cleric – that was someone you weren't able to counter," said Sturm.
"Indeed, mortal man." The ghost's right arm dropped off.
Part of the unreal flesh touched Sturm's booted foot. He withdrew it hastily and shivered. The ghost's touch was more frigid than the wind off the Ice Wall.
"We held back five hundredweight of arms. The dragon men's leader discovered the shortage and complained. Drott jeered at him from the rail, saying there was a tax on illegal weapons and the dragonfolk had yet to pay. The dragon man threatened to storm the Werival and slaughter us all.
The crew manned the rail with bare blades and taunted them to try. The dragonmen, less than a third our number, began to arm. I wanted to weigh anchor and be off, but
Drott said we should stay and fight. After we killed the scaly folk, he said, we could take back all the weapons we'd sold them and sell them again.
"There was no battle. The dark cleric came from his place on the stern of the dragonship and threw his arms wide.
'Go, greedy vermin, and take away your dishonored gold. I curse you and yours forever! Those who lust for gold shall lust for the flesh of their fellows, those who jeer at the min ions of the Dark Queen shall know her wrath! They shall hear her mocking laughter forever! ' he said.
"It was a terrible curse, and the full weight of it did not fall on us for some weeks. We left the shores of Coastlund for
Sancrist, but never saw land again. Strange, circular winds blew us farther and farther from land. The crew began to hear voices – a woman laughing – and they slowly went mad. The few healthy sailors that remained chained the mad ones below decks. Food and water dwindled, but try as we might, we could not bring the Werival to shore.
"Drott changed. He had always been a vain man, proud of his quick mind and good looks. Now he ceased to care for himself, allowing his beard to grow and his clothes to fall to tatters. The meat shrank on his bones and his skin whitened to a ghastly color. As the days passed, my first mate and friend perished as the hideous curse worked upon his wretched body. Drott prowled below, snaring rats in his hands and eating them alive. Soon rats were not enough for him. He had become a Gharm, a ravenous ghoul that feeds on the flesh of men."
"Why didn't you kill him?" Kitiara said sharply. The drumming of feet had stopped, but they could still hear the
Gharm's cackle as the monster capered madly in the rigging.
"I could not, for as much as his new form disgusted me, I pitied my lost friend. The crew, poor wretches, learned to keep him at bay by giving him those who died of madness and starvation. When there were only five sound men left, they decided to try to put an end to the Gharm. Our young cleric, Novantumus, wove a temporary protective spell.
The sailors armed themselves and drove the Gharm to the fore end of the ship with fire and sword. Novantumus meant to imprison the fiend in the anchor locker, and he fashioned a magic seal to keep it in. The Gharm attacked the men savagely and killed them one by one. With his life's blood spilling on the deck, the brave Novantumus succeed ed in compelling the Gharm into the locker. I alone lived, and here at my table I died of hunger, thirst, and despair."
The ghost had shrunk throughout his telling, and the cold glare that it cast had diminished to a firefly's sparkle. Sturm was deeply sorry for the captain.
"One question," said Kitiara. She picked up the skull that had been set between the captain's feet. "Who is this?"
"That was Drott's head. One of the sailors cut it off before the Gharm killed him."
"But that thing out there has a head!"
"A new one it grew afterward."