Snarling, Leontis took a step back and cradled his wounded arm. The other two weresharks-the hammerhead and the blue-hesitated, unsure what had just happened and what, if anything they should do about it. Hinto saw his chance. He dashed toward the hammerhead, the bigger and more deadly of the two, and rammed his dagger into the monster's chest. The monster screamed once, stiffened, and then fell to the deck.
The blue shark looked back and forth between Onu, Hinto, and Leontis. The lycanthropic priest stepped toward the surviving wereshark, growling low in his throat. The blue might have looked like a mindless animal, but he was anything but. He knew bad odds when he saw them. He turned, ran toward the railing, leaped over, and plunged into the water below.
Hinto didn't know whether lycanthropes would heal if the silver weapons that slew them were removed, so he left the dagger buried in the wereshark's chest and walked over to Onu. The changeling was in the process of transforming back into his human guise of Captain Onu, and the metamorphosis was complete by the time Hinto reached him.
"Not bad, eh, lad?" Onu said, grinning. "But then the beastly things should've known better than to go up against a couple of hardy old salts like us!" The changeling clapped Hinto on the back hard enough to nearly knock the halfling off his feet. Hinto was about to congratulate Onu on the success of his ploy when he realized that Leontis was growling at them.
The wolfshark's arm had almost healed. While the flesh was still ragged in places, the wounds no longer dripped blood. Leontis's eyes-large fish-like orbs that shone lupine yellow-were fixed on them with murderous fury. Hinto feared that there was nothing of the priest left inside that monstrous body, and the evil thing he'd become would, lacking any other prey, now attack them.
Hinto glanced sideways at the dead body of the wereshark, gauging his chances of reaching the corpse and pulling the silver dagger out of its chest before Leontis could leap forward. He decided they weren't good.
Hinto stepped in front of Onu. Perhaps the changeling had become the true captain of the Turnabout by an accident of fate, but he was the captain, and it was Hinto's duty as acting first mate to protect him.
Onu attempted to push the halfling out of the way. "Lad, I appreciate the gesture, but there's no need."
Before the changeling could say anything more, Leontis stopped growling. His prominent brow furrowed, and a look of confusion came into his eyes. Then he spoke, his voice a gravely rumbling that was difficult to make out, but not impossible.
"Hinto… Onu…?"
Hinto grinned. "That's right, Leontis! It's us!"
The wolfshark's arm was completely healed now, and he rose to his feet. Hinto almost stepped forward to help Leontis up, but he restrained himself. Just because the priest recognized them didn't mean he was no longer dangerous.
Now that the weresharks had been deal with, they should go help Diran and the others. But before Hinto could broach the subject, he felt a chill breeze against the back of his neck. The cold seeped into his skin, penetrated his bones, and seemed to permeate his very soul. Coils of greenish mist slithered across the deck of the galleon, moving as if they were somehow alive, vaporous serpents probing, exploring, seeking something, though Hinto couldn't have said what. The halfling turned toward the ship's railing and there, out in the bay, he spied a dark vessel that every sailor who plied the waters of the Lhazaar Sea feared and prayed never to set eyes upon.
The Ship of Bones.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Nathifa felt the artificer's lifeforce draining into her body, and she welcomed it. Not only because it weakened one of her enemies, but because it helped restore a small portion of the power she'd lost on Trebaz Sinara by sacrificing her arm and her eye.
The old man was clever; she had to give him that. His mastery of mystic arts couldn't begin to approach hers, but he'd created a device that allowed him not only to take hold of the dragonwand while it was in use without being damaged, but also to dampen the Amahau's energy output. If he were allowed to continue, he might well be able to stop the Summoning and regain possession of the dragonwand. But he would be dead long before that came to pass.
A cold breeze wafted in from the sea, bringing with it tendrils of greenish mist, and Nathifa's feelings of triumph gave way to fear and despair. She looked out across the bay, knowing what she would see upon its waters. The Ship of Bones. Prince Moren had come to collect the debt she owned him.
The lich cast her thoughts out toward the dark vessel.
Not yet! I'm not ready!
She wasn't surprised when she received no answer.
Ghaji-singed and smarting from the burns he'd taken from leaping through the wall of fire-ran to the end of the dock, elemental axe held tight, flames trailing behind him. There were only three weresharks between the half-orc and his destination, but that was three too many as far as Ghaji was concerned. He whirled the axe over his head, bared his teeth, and roared as he came, trying to make himself into what he hoped was a fearsome apparition. He had no illusions that he'd frighten the weresharks off, but he hoped that his ferocity and the flames generated by his axe might give them enough pause so that he could get the first strike in as he attacked.
But the weresharks didn't appear intimidated in the slightest, and they matched Ghaji's display of ferocity with their own, showing their teeth, raising their claws, and bellowing a challenge. But then they stopped and as one turned to look toward the bay. A green mist that seemed almost to glow with a sickly illumination covered the surface of the water, and there was a sudden drop in air temperature. A moment later the trio of weresharks leaped off the dock, transforming into full shark form before they plunged into the water.
Ghaji kept running, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the sharks swim away, their dorsal fins cutting through the layer of green mist that hung over the water. He had no idea what the mist was or why it should frighten the weresharks so much, but he was too grateful to question it.
As the half-orc approached the end of the dock, he saw that his friends had already engaged Nathifa and her servants in battle. Solus gripped the head of the statue of Nerthatch, Diran was struggling with Makala, and Tresslar was trying to wrest the dragonwand from the lich who, in turn, had wrapped tendrils of darkness around the artificer's arm. Ghaji had faced enough liches alongside Diran to know that Nathifa was draining Tresslar's lifeforce. He knew what he had to do.
He raced toward Nathifa and Tresslar, raised his flaming axe, and brought it down upon the ebon tendrils protruding from the lich's body. The blade sliced through the shadowy substance of the sorceress's cloak, making the lich hiss in pain. The black coils around Tresslar's arm relaxed and fell to the dock, and the artificer gasped with relief. But he did not release his grip on the dragonwand. Ghaji knew they had only seconds before Nathifa unfurled more tendrils and renewed her attack, so the half-orc did the only logical thing: he swung his axe at the sorceress's wrist.
The flaming blade cut through Nathifa's undead flesh as if it were dry kindling, and Tresslar yanked the dragonwand away from her, the lich's hand still holding tight to the other end. The shaft of necromantic energy emanating from the mouth of the Amahau winked out the instant Nathifa's hand was severed from her body, and the lich shrieked in rage. Tresslar shoved the end of the dragonwand into the flames of Ghaji's axe, and the hand was instantly charred black. The fingers released their grip, and the blackened hand fell to the dock. Nathifa lurched forward, as if intending to retrieve her hand, but Tresslar kicked it out of her reach. The lich's hand flew into the water with a small splash and sank from sight.