“No,” said Dah’mir. “I don’t think so.” His eyes flashed in the dusk. “A torch on the battlefield, stolen flame-Hruucan died in fire but we carried no fire across the battlefield.”
Vennet stiffened and whirled. His crew’s camp was growing. Wood gathered the night before and carried along had been laid beside a makeshift fire pit piled with tinder. One of the crew crouched beside the tinder, flint and steel at the ready. The camp was beyond the burned zone, but unease filled Vennet. “No fire!” he bellowed.
His warning came too late. The hands of the sailor beside the fire pit were already in motion, striking flint against steel with practiced ease. Sparks leaped into the tinder and the man gave them a gentle puff of air. Flames crackled and blossomed-then seemed to leap into the air, leaving only scorched tinder behind as they stretched like a gossamer thread back to the blackened battlefield.
On the battlefield, a burned corpse stirred. Vennet froze. Behind him, he heard one of the Bonetree whimper in fear. He glanced over his shoulder to see the hunters on their feet, their hands tight on their weapons.
“Revered, it’s him!” said Breff.
The sailor at the firepit looked at the cold tinder in confusion and struck a new shower of sparks. More flames bloomed.
“Stop!” Vennet shouted. He started forward-but Dah’mir’s fingers dug into his shoulder.
“Don’t move!” the priest hissed.
The stirring corpse rose to its feet with a faint whisper like crumbling ashes. It shambled toward Vennet’s crew, black skin cracking to reveal glowing embers beneath. The movement and the glow caught the attention of some of the sailors. Two drew short swords and moved forward. Someone called out to Vennet. “Captain! Danger on deck-”
Before Vennet could even think to respond, the corpse lunged forward with astounding speed. Claw-like hands grasped the nearest sailor in a horrid embrace. The man screamed in agony as he burst into flame. The other sailors flinched back-one or two retreated a pace. The burned corpse flung the dying sailor aside. Bright flames clung to it, tendrils of fire writhing around its chest and hanging like clumps of hair from its head, long burning tentacles weaving above its shoulders.
The tentacles of a dolgaunt reborn in fire.
The creature exploded in a fiery whirlwind of motion, its movements fluid and supple as if the sailor’s death had given it new energy. Tentacles wove around another sailor. He burned. Fists and feet pummeled others, knocking them back with smoke rising from their clothes. More sailors fell, their bodies engulfed in devouring fire. More screams rose. Vennet wanted to order his men to fall back, but he felt paralyzed.
One of the Bonetree let out a wail and bolted. “Revered?” Breff asked.
Dah’mir made no reply. Vennet heard Breff hiss, then spit a desperate order in the language of the hunters. Footsteps darted away and he and Dah’mir stood alone.
The last of the sailors fell. Flames rose around the burning dolgaunt. The creature’s body was a horrible, shifting mass of flaking ash, raw new flesh, and smoldering embers. Only the empty black pits where eyes should have been remained constant. They turned on Vennet and the dolgaunt began to glide forward as smoothly as flame given life-or rather unlife. Heat and hatred seemed to flow from the dolgaunt in equal measure, and yet Vennet felt only a profound, unnatural chill in his spirit. He fumbled for his cutlass, though his gut told him it would be of little good against a creature that had already died once before.
“Hruucan!” called Dah’mir.
The fiery dolgaunt didn’t stop his advance.
“Hruucan!” Dah’mir said again. He pulled himself around in front of Vennet. “Hruucan, stop!” The priest drew a breath and stood tall. He seemed almost to swell. The strength of his presence was a dark cloak around him. His voice was sudden thunder in the dusk. “By the power of the Dragon Below, I command it!”
Hruucan rocked backward as if struck-and stopped where he stood, his blazing tentacles lashing the air.
Dah’mir took a step forward. “Hruucan,” he said, “do you know me?”
The thrashing of the dolgaunt’s tentacles, of the fiery tendrils on his chest and head, quickened for a moment, then fell still. Hruucan bent his head. “Dah’mir,” he said. His voice was deep and grating. “My master.”
“Good,” said Dah’mir with a nod. “Vennet, your arm-quickly.”
The aura of his presence collapsed like the passing of a cloudburst, leaving the priest looking more exhausted than before. Vennet reached forward and caught him before he could fall. Hruucan’s tentacles stirred.
“You’re injured,” he said.
Vennet’s belly, still clenched tight, seemed to squeeze into a knot with the fear that Hruucan might take advantage of Dah’mir’s weakness. The dolgaunt kept his distance though and Dah’mir only gave a weak, cold laugh. “And you’re dead, my Hand.”
“I died with hatred of Singe in my mind,” said Hruucan, “and rose the same way. Fire renews me. Life is my fuel. When I take my revenge on Singe, perhaps I will join him in death.”
“Did you kill my Bonetree hunters?” Dah’mir asked as if scolding a child.
Hruucan showed no sign of remorse. “Their lives sustained me,” he said. He turned and swept a hand across the smoldering bodies of Vennet’s crew. “These will sustain me for a time as well.”
To hear the priest and the undead dolgaunt speaking so casually sent a ripple of horror through Vennet. A sort of mad courage rose out of the fear that gripped him. “They were my crew!” he snapped at Hruucan. He looked to Dah’mir, leaning on his arm. “How are we supposed to get back to Zarash’ak and Lightning on Water without them?”
“Be at ease, captain,” Dah’mir said. “When I have my strength back, you won’t need a crew. I will see you back to your ship wherever she may be.”
Shock and anger ran up Vennet’s spine. “What do you mean by that?” he asked.
Dah’mir’s voice was weary. “The dragonshards that led me to sanctuary on your ship are still onboard her, aren’t they, captain? I can still sense their beacon call. Perhaps your crew have stronger wills that I expected, but whatever the cause of it, your ship has been on the move for several days.” He lifted a hand and pointed into the darkness. “That way. I expect whoever controls her is making for Sharn.”
Vennet stared at him. “My ship has been stolen? My ship has been stolen and you didn’t tell me?” His voice rose. “If my crew reaches Sharn with Lightning on Water, I’ll be exposed! What good will the power and wealth you promised me be then? How could you not tell me this was happening?” He tried to thrust Dah’mir away from him.
The priest’s fingers sank into his flesh like talons. Acid-green eyes glared at Vennet, cold and furious. “The disposition of your ship is of no concern to me, Vennet.” Dah’mir spat his name rather than his title for the first time. “She is where she is and we are where we are-and where we are is what matters. The restoration of my strength is all that concerns me now. It should be the all that concerns you as well.” His fingers dug deep. “You will receive your reward-I have promised it-but do not assume that I owe you anything else.”
There was something in Dah’mir’s eyes beyond mere fury, something strange and alien that made Vennet’s guts quiver with fear, but the half-elf had anger between his teeth as well. “But you do, Dah’mir. My bounty hunter will have found Dandra, Geth, and Singe in Zarash’ak.”
“Singe is with your ship,” said Hruucan.
Both Vennet and Dah’mir turned to stare at the dolgaunt. “How do you know?” hissed Dah’mir.
“I feel him like a wound.” Hruucan’s tentacles lashed the air. “The river has prevented me from pursuing him, but I still feel his presence. When I was awake last, I felt him there-” He pointed almost directly south. Toward Zarash’ak, Vennet realized. “-but now I feel him there.” He swung around to point southeast.