Chagai regained his balance and turned back to face Ghaji, bringing his broadsword around for another strike. Ghaji ran forward, gripped the flaming axe in both hands, and raised it high over his head.
"This is for Ruelo and his family!" Ghaji shouted.
Chagai's eyes widened as Ghaji brought his fire-flecked axe blade down and split the orc's skull in two.
"Soon… Soon… Now!" Nathifa commanded.
Skarm didn't hesitate. He leaped from the cloak of darkness, donned wolf form, and dashed across the cavern floor toward the white-bearded artificer.
As much as Tresslar wanted to believe that he was responsible for ending the psionic illusion they'd been trapped in, he knew he had nothing to do with it. Still, he was pleased that his notion for defeating Paganus had worked, even if only in an illusion. Tresslar had answered a question that had nagged at him for forty years, and how many people were fortunate enough to receive an opportunity like that? There was no time for such idle thoughts: just because the illusion had ended didn't mean the danger had.
Gripping his dragonwand-and wasn't he glad to have it back? — he turned to Asenka.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
The Sea Scorpion commander looked dazed, but she shook her head, appearing none the worse for wear.
Tresslar glanced around the cavern, hoping to determine what was happening and where he might be needed.
A gray shape came streaking at him from the cavern's shadows. Tresslar was still somewhat disoriented from having been in the grip of illusion, and so he hesitated, unsure whether the wolf running at him was real or not.
The beast leaped, closed its mouth around the dragonwand, and tore the magic weapon out of Tresslar's hand. The wolf raced away toward a stairwell at the far end of the cavern, and though Tresslar thought it might be his imagination, he swore he saw a dark form trailing the creature, as if one of the cavern's shadows had decided to break loose and accompany the beast. Then the wolf entered the stairwell, and the dark shape-assuming it truly existed-vanished as well.
Tresslar stared in stunned amazement. For four decades he'd possessed the dragonwand, using it during his voyages with Erdis Cai, then concealing it during his lengthy tenure on Dreadhold, and now, after all those years, it was gone.
The blades Diran threw were made of steel, not wood or silver, and thus would not cause Makala any serious injury, but he wasn't aiming for Makala.
The first dagger struck Cathmore just above the throat apple, while the second slid into the master assassin's left eye socket, penetrating deep into the brain. Cathmore stiffened as blood gushed from his wounds, then he fixed his remaining eye on Diran and slowly smiled with trembling lips. The smile fell away, the eye glazed over, and Cathmore died. The master assassin went limp, but he did not fall, for Makala had hold of him from behind, her head at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, her mouth pressed to the side of his throat as she drank the dead man's blood.
Diran prayed that he'd been fast enough. For the moment Makala's fangs had pierced Cathmore's neck, she'd opened herself to the dark spirit that dwelt within the old man, but if Cathmore had died before the dark spirit could enter Makala though the blood of its former host, then there was a chance the evil entity would be cast out before it could infect her. If he'd been swift enough.
"Makala?"
As Diran spoke her name, he reached back into his cloak and withdrew a dagger made of pure silver from one of the sheaths sewn into the inner lining.
For a moment, she continued enjoying her grisly repast, but then she lifted her blood-smeared mouth from Cathmore's ravaged neck and smiled at Diran, revealing crimson-flecked teeth.
"I'd forgotten how good it feels to have the darkness inside." Her voice was soft, almost a purr.
Diran felt as if he'd taken a blow to the chest. He'd failed her-again.
"Please, Makala… let me help you."
Makala spoke with mocking amusement. "Help me how, lover? You can't cure me. So what will you do? Kill me?"
Diran hesitated for only a half second. Forgive me, he thought, then threw the silver dagger at Makala, but before the blade could strike, she lifted Cathmore's body and used it as a shield. The dagger thunked harmlessly into the dead man's chest.
Diran reached for a second silver dagger, but Makala's reflexes were far faster than his. She hurled Cathmore's body at him then her form faded to mist.
Diran leaped to the side to avoid the old man's body, throwing his dagger at Makala as he did. The blade flew straight and true, but it was too late. The dagger passed through the space where Makala's heart had been. The blade fell to the ground with a metallic tink, and Makala's dark laughter echoed through the cavern air. Though it quickly faded, Diran continued to hear it in his mind long after.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Any luck?"
Diran turned to see Ghaji striding across the rocky ground toward him. The half-orc was clad in a thick fur cloak, his axe tucked beneath his belt. The clouds in the gray sky had a darkish undercast, and though it was not yet winter, Diran thought there was a good chance it might snow soon.
The priest was annoyed to see his friend approaching, but he tried to keep his tone neutral as he replied. "What do you mean?"
Ghaji stopped when he reached Diran and took a quick look at their surroundings to check the area for threats-an action Diran knew from their long association was second nature to the half-orc. Evidently Ghaji saw nothing to concern him in the desolate, rocky hills, for he turned his attention back to Diran.
"This is the third day you've come out here alone-without telling anyone, I might add. You're searching for Makala, aren't you?"
There was no point in denying it: Ghaji knew him too well. There were a couple of rocks nearby large enough to sit on. Diran took one, Ghaji the other.
Now that they'd sat, Diran found himself still reluctant to talk about Makala. "Have you heard anything from Yvka?"
Ghaji's eyes narrowed, as if he were well aware that his friend was stalling. "She stopped by the King Prawn this morning to, uh, get some rest."
Diran grinned.
"Anyway, she told me her 'friends' have taken possession of Mount Luster-and they've taken custody of Galharath. No doubt they're going over the psi-forge facility inch by inch to glean all the information they can. I get the impression that Yvka's risen in status in the Shadow Network thanks to her association with us. First she was able to deliver Grimwall to them and now Mount Luster."
"I don't like the idea of the Shadow Network possessing the capability to create psi-forged," Diran said. "Imagine the destruction an army of constructs like Solus could cause."
"Warforged aren't mindless machines, you know," Ghaji pointed out. "Creating them is one thing. Controlling them is another. Besides, according to Solus, the psi-forge's energy matrix-whatever that is-was damaged when he attacked Galharath. There's no guarantee that the Shadow Network's artificers can repair it."
"True, but if the Shadow Network can restore Galharath's mind, they might be able to get the kalashtar to cooperate with them."
Solus's attack had done more than damage the internal workings of the psi-forge. It had reduced Galharath to a drooling idiot. Diran had attempted to heal him several times but without success. Whatever injury had been done to the kalashtar's mind was beyond Diran's power to repair. Galharath had been taken to Perhata and locked up in the baron's prison, where he'd remained for the last few days… until the Shadow Network had taken him. Diran wondered how the Network had managed to get Baron Mahir's cooperation, and he wondered what Asenka thought about having to give up the prisoner. He suspected she was less than thrilled.