Diran examined the stone figure of the evil priest once more, trying to determine if it had an obvious weak point. The dark gems that served in place of eyes? Doubtful. More than likely they were there in order to lure foolish treasure-seekers, greedy artificers, or power-hungry priests to the island. Diran wouldn't be surprised if there was a curse on the gems as well, but what else could there be? The statue had no other obvious features. No runes were carved into its surface, and there were no others gems or items of any sort embedded in the stone.
Diran glanced away from the statue and saw that a zombie-one with limp octopus tentacles dangling out of its open mouth-was nearly upon him. His thinking time was up.
After the priest's transformation, the statue had remained in human shape. Perhaps that was a hint as to its weakness. With no time left to consider, Diran gripped the silver dagger in his right hand tight and concentrated on summoning the power of the Silver Flame, willing the power to suffuse the dagger. Argent light blazed forth from the blade. Diran stepped forward, and using all his strength, he rammed the knife into the statue's chest. The impact sent a jolt of pain shooting through his hand and up along his arm, and he released the dagger's hilt. He stepped back and saw that an inch or so of the blade had penetrated the statue, but that was all. The dagger still shone with the power of the Silver Flame, though, and Diran could sense the statue's evil aura reacting to the holy energy, massing its strength at the point of penetration and attempting to nullify the blade. Diran could also sense that if he didn't do something more and do it fast, the statue would succeed in resisting the Silver Flame.
Diran turned to call out to Ghaji, but his voice was choked off as a pair of slime-coated hands fastened around his throat. The priest found himself staring into the empty eye sockets of the tentacle-mouthed zombie. The undead creature possessed strength far greater than that of a normal zombie, undoubtedly due to its proximity to the ebon statue. Diran felt the creature's hands tightening around his throat, heard a roaring in his ears as the blood to his head was cut off, saw gray closing in on the edges of his vision, and he knew he was on the verge of death.
Diran still held a dagger in his left hand, and as his consciousness ebbed, he sliced at the zombie's right wrist with a single swift strike, then sliced its left. Instead of blood, brackish seawater spilled from the wounds, but Diran knew the injuries wouldn't pain the zombie. Despite the damage done to the zombie's wrists, the slimy fingers clasped around Diran's throat did not lose their strength. Consciousness began to ebb, and Diran prepared for his spirit to join with the Silver Flame.
Then a swatch of darkness detached itself from the night and swooped down to the zombie throttling Diran. His vision was too blurry for him to make out what the thing was, but it grabbed hold of the zombie's shoulders and yanked the undead creature away from the Diran. The zombie's skeletal fingers scratched Diran's neck as its grip was broken, and the priest drew in a gasping breath. He could feel himself on the verge of passing out, but he held onto consciousness through sheer force of will. He looked around to see who or what had saved him, but he only saw Ghaji some yards away, the half-orc swinging his elemental axe in great fiery arcs as he annihiliated one zombie after another.
Diran didn't have time to worry about how he had been saved. The zombies had to be stopped. He tried to call out Ghaji's name, but the word came out as little more than a raspy whisper. He sucked in another breath and tried again. "Ghaji! Drive home the dagger!"
Ghaji turned toward Diran, frowning in confusion, but then he saw the glowing dagger protruding from the statue's chest, and his gaze lit up with understanding. Ghaji rammed aside an attacking zombie with his elbow and ran to the statue. Diran stepped aside as his friend approached and swung the flat of his axe at the dagger's pommel. A loud clang split the air, followed closely by the chuk! of metal being driven into stone.
The silver aura surrounding the dagger spread across the ebon statue until the stony remains of the evil priest glowed bright blue-white. The zombies stopped and stood frozen. Then, one by one, their slimy, sodden flesh began to liquefy and slide off their bones. Seconds later, the army of undead had been reduced to a collection of upright skeletons. Their bones quickly lost cohesion, fell apart, and tumbled to the ground, landing with wet plaps in the puddles.
The silver glow around the statue flared bright one last time before dimming and finally going out. Diran lowered his head and uttered a prayer to the Silver Flame. "Thank you for bringing us victory." When he lifted his head, he smiled at Ghaji. "Well struck, my friend."
"Looks like you're out another dagger. Unless you want me to try and pry it loose."
Diran shook his head. "Leave it where it is. The statue might become active again if the dagger's removed."
"Suits me," Ghaji said.
Diran reached into one of his cloak's hidden pockets, removed a bit of silver dust, and sprinkled it into the statue's eyes. "Divine light, ensure this being never rises again, and protect this island and the surrounding waters from the taint of its evil."
As Diran finished the rite of the Death of the Foe, Ghaji looked at him and frowned. "You're bleeding from scratches on your neck."
"I'm fortunate to still be alive. I was being strangled by one of the zombies when something pulled it away from me. I'm not sure what it…" Diran trailed off as coils of white mist drifted toward them on the night breeze. The coils joined to create a roughly human shape, and then the mist thickened and distinctly feminine features began to emerge. Within moments, a blonde-haired woman stood before them.
Diran felt his heart seize up in his chest, and he tried to say Makala's name, but he couldn't get the word past the sudden lump in his throat.
Makala smiled. "What's wrong? Zombie got your tongue?"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I wondered if I would ever see you again," Diran said.
"I wondered if you'd ever want to see me again."
The two of them sat on a pair of rocks on the shore not far from where the Maelstrom had run aground. The Zephyr bobbed in the surf anchored nearby. The elemental sloop was both small and maneuverable enough that Yvka had been able to get her close to the island. The others-including Asenka, whom Diran was pleased had come along-were going through the wreckage of the Coldhearts' ship. They searched for survivors-or in Hinto's case, any plunder worth salvaging. Diran suspected at least part of the reason that everyone else aided in the search was to give Makala and him some time alone.
"You know, we all feel somewhat foolish for racing to your rescue." Makala gestured at a mound of bones sitting in a puddle of foul-smelling slime close by. Similar mounds of liquefied zombie remains covered most of the island. "From the looks of things, you were doing just fine on your own."
"This night would have had a very different outcome if you hadn't arrived in time to pull that zombie off me." He reached up to touch the scratches on the left side of his neck and found them tacky with partially dried blood. After the confusion following the zombies' destruction, Diran had forgotten about the wounds and hadn't gotten around to healing himself yet.
He saw how Makala's gaze fixed on his scratches, how her pupils widened and her nostrils flared. He lowered his hand, but her gaze remained on his neck.
"Am I going to have to reach for my arrowhead?" He meant it as a joke, at least partially, but it came out sounding more like a threat.
Makala tore her gaze away from Diran's neck with a start, and she shook her head as if to clear it. "I'm sorry. I can't help it."