"Hold out his arm. The left one."
Vandor struggled, but his strength was nothing compared to that of the draconians.
The servant of Chemosh removed a twisted, bejewelled dagger from within his robe. Vandor Grizt recognized it — a sacrificial knife. He had even sold a few. None had ever been so intricate in detail… or looked so deadly in purpose.
Stel brought the dagger down lightly on Grizt's outstretched arm. The tip of the blade pricked his skin and drew blood. Muttering under his breath, Stel cut a tiny slit in his captive's forearm. It was painful, to be sure, but Vandor had suffered far more pain at the hands of city guards. A tiny trail of blood dripped slowly down the side of his arm and into the round interior of the altar bowl. The blood struck the bottom and sizzled away with a hiss. The metal began to radiate heat. Vandor swallowed, fearing what would happen if his flesh touched the hot metal.
Removing the blood-covered blade, Stel looked down at the dreadwolf, which stared back with sightless, dead eyes.
The cleric turned to face the sea. "Zeboim, you who are also known as the Sea Queen, hear me! I give you some thing of great value, something that will prove my humble respect for your power! I give you a part of me!" The black cleric drove the dagger into the skull of his pet, not ceasing until the hilt was touching the bone.
The wolf howled in fierce pain and anger. Several of the minotaur crewmen looked their way. Vandor Grizt pulled his arm back from the hot metal. The two draconians had loosened their hold on him in their shock over the cleric's act.
The servant of Chemosh removed the dagger from the head of his dreadwolf. The monstrosity collapsed the moment the blade was no longer touching it. The dead creature crumbled, becoming ash in the space of a few breaths. Vandor Grizt, looking up at his captor, saw the cleric's hands shake. Prefect Stel gave all the appearances of a man who has just cut off his own hand.
A muttering rose among the minotaurs. The stomping of heavy feet warned Vandor and his captors that Captain Kruug was returning.
"Prefect Stel! What in the name of Sargonnas have you done now? I will not risk my ship in this venture any more, threats or no — "
Stel raised his free hand and silenced the captain. He looked out at the sea in expectation.
For a short time, Vandor Grizt, like the rest, saw nothing out of the ordinary. The sea was calm and the storm clouds near motionless. The Blood Sea was as calm as a sleeping child.
Then it struck Vandor that this was out of ordinary.
The sea had calmed, the storm had ceased… with a suddenness that could only be called DIVINE in nature.
"Shinare…" Vandor whispered, once more wishing he had been just a little more consistent with his praying.
Moving a bit unsteadily, Prefect Stel turned on the sea captain. "You were about to say, Kruug?"
It is not often that a minotaur can be taken aback by events, but Kruug was. The beastman swallowed hard and stared at the cleric with awe and not a little fear.
"I thought as much." Stel said, evilly smiling. "We are almost over the exact location, captain. I suggest you and your crew bring us to as dead a stop as you can."
"Aye," Kruug replied, nodding all the while. He whirled about and started shouting at the other minotaurs, taking out his fear and shame on his crew.
Stel turned to Vandor. The cleric smiled. "It is as I hoped. Your blood is the key. She has heard us. She has given us her favor."
"My blood? Key?" Vandor babbled.
"Oh, yes, Vandor Grizt, petty thief and purveyor of purloined properties, your blood! Can't you hear the voices?" The deep, black eyes behind the mask widened in anticipation. "Can't you hear them calling you?"
"Who?" Vandor gasped.
"Your ancestors," Stel said, looking at the sea.
"Prefect 1" The kapak was spluttering with fear. A tiny bit of acidic saliva splattered Vandor on the cheek. He flinched in pain, but there was nothing he could do with his arms pinned. "Prefect, you sacrificed the Dreadwolf!"
"It was necessary. Chemosh will understand. Zeboim has to be placated. This venture is too important."
"But the dreadwolf… it was bound to you by your lord!"
Stel's destruction of his ungodly pet had evidently taken much out of him and the kapak's reminder was only stirring the pain. If what the draconian said was true, then the prefect had wantonly destroyed a gift from his god in order to gain the favor of the Sea Queen.
A costly venture this, Vandor thought fearfully.
The skull mask made its wearer look like the embodiment of death itself. Stel's voice was so steady, so toneless, that both Vandor and the draconians shrank back in alarm.
"We are in the Sea Queen's domain. Even my lord Chemosh must be respectful of that. It is by his power that this task will be done, but it is by HER sufferance that we survive it!"
The skull necklace flared brighter, so bright that the two draconians and Vandor were forced to look away.
Stel shouted, "Captain Kruug! This is the position! No farther!"
The minotaur dropped anchor; the vessel slowed, but continued to drift, giving Vandor a brief hope. But, the minotaurs turned the vessel about and slowly brought it back.
"Still a short time left," Stel whispered. In a louder, more confident voice, he asked, "Do you hear them, Vandor Grizt? Do you hear your ancestors calling you?"
Vandor, who could not trace his ancestors past his barely-remembered parents, heard nothing except bellowing minotaurs and the lightest breeze in the rigging. He refrained from responding however. The answer might mean life… or death. He needed to know a bit more to make the correct choice.
"You don't, do you?" Stel frowned. "But you will. Your blood is the true blood, child of Kingpriests."
"Kingpriests? Me?" Vandor stared blankly at his captor.
"Yes, Kingpriests." Stel toyed with the dagger and stared off at the becalmed sea. "It took me quite some time to find you, thanks to your nomadic lifestyle. I knew that I would not fail at what I undertook. I was the one who found the ancient temple, who understood what others of my order did not."
"You have me completely at a loss, Master Stel," Vandor quavered. "You say I am a descendent of the Kingpriests?" As he asked, Vandor shivered uncontrollably. He remembered suddenly what legend said lay at the bottom of the Blood Sea.
Istar… the holy city brought down by the conceit of its lord, the Kingpriest. In the blackest depths of the Blood Sea lay the ruins of the holy city… and the rest of the ancient country for that matter.
"Of direct descent." Stel touched the blazing skull. "This charm marks you as such, as it marks where the great temples… and storehouses… of Istar sank. The spells I cast upon it make it drawn to all things — including people — that possess a strong affinity with Istar. The charm was carved out of a stone from the very temple where I found the records, duplicates preserved by the magic of the zealous acolytes of the Kingpriest. Preserved but forgotten, for those who had stored them there either perished with the city or abandoned the place after their homeland was no more."
"Please, Master Stel." Vandor hoped for more information, though he had no idea what good it could do him. "What great wonder did these records hold that would make you search for one as unworthy as myself?"
Stel chuckled — a raspy, grating sound. "During the last days of Istar, the Kingpriest persecuted and murdered many such as myself. The clerics of good stole many objects of evil from the bodies of clerics of Takhisis, Sargonnas, Morgion, Chemosh. The fools who followed the Kingpriest either could not destroy these powerful artifacts… or found them too tempting to destroy, just in case they could find uses for them."