Tainted Fire: The Banished Isle Quartet, #2

By Sharayah Kells

Two down, one to go...

The Wizard-Lord Melorvine has claimed two of the coveted Togan Eye stones for his own and Iverastra is firmly under his control. Shaynek Reullech, former king of the fallen city and now a fugitive, seeks to evade execution at the wizard's hand by fleeing to the dubious safety of the korathian captol in Shevathn.

Coraan and his companions, under royal command, are sent to capture the final stone before it can fall into the wrong hands. Yet the journey will require them to leave the Isle of Khandren and sail into an unfamiliar world full of dangerous secrets.

The past Coraan had fled and the secrets he sought to leave buried behind him are in danger. People remember him. People know too much. And sooner or later that blasted bull-headed giant of his is going to start asking questions. The situation is spiralling out of control. And time is running out.

 

This is Book 2 of The Banished Isle Quartet. Approximately 550 pages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sharayah Kells
• Release date: May 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224469475

Sharayah Kells

Sharayah Kells is a prairie girl from Manitoba, though she currently resides in Ontario. Her time is unevenly divided between being an author, graphic designer, chainmaille-crafter, and bookworm. You might even find her with her books and chainmaillery at a Medieval or Renaissance festival in the area, under the banner of DracCoilz. Life Goals: To take over the world with epic fantasy books and chainmaille.

Book preview

Chapter 1

If only the shemassen a vena rhyven didn't exist, life would be perfect.

Well, except for the tavern brawls, knifings, robbings,

looting, and all-around cussings of your average sailor.

But hey, ye can't have everything.

~Kaarsk, an innkeeper of Gartrox

.      .

Gartrox was a major harbor town that nestled between the Hakiral Wood and the Irivelt. Houses were scattered across the sheltered bay in haphazard groupings, dotted here and there with various shops and taverns, as though they were driftwood cast ashore by the waves. The few townsmen still wandering about at dusk glanced suspiciously at the small party immerging from the woods before hurrying away, cloaks clutched tight against the rising wind that would precede yet another summer squall.

The Iron Serpent was located by the shipping docks near the southern tip of the bay and catered to a wide array of rough hands that made their living on the unpredictable seas. It was a well-kept establishment in spite of the occasional brawl that erupted between its volatile customers.

A traveler entered the tavern, wearing a pack over one shoulder and an inscrutable expression. His steady green gaze swept around the crowded common area, noting how many of the brutish sailors had stopped to size him up at his arrival. Unconcerned, he shook the wind-blown chestnut hair from his face. A moment later a gray wolf trotted through the open door and sat panting at his side. A few thugs turned away, no longer interested in causing trouble for a solitary traveler who kept such a beast for company.

A slender blonde-haired blue-eyed girl came in next, followed closely by an older man grumbling curses at the tempestuous wind. The man had thick pepper-black hair, a stubbled jaw, and the compact muscled build of a seasoned soldier. His bearing spoke of a man of rank and several more sailors turned back to their drinks, knowing better than to pick a fight with someone well-trained to put down such unruly actions firmly and irrevocably.

Any lingering thoughts of mischief were banished as eyes were drawn to the black bull’s head of the giant stooping to enter behind the small party. The bull-man straightened and crossed his muscled arms with a warning lion-like growl as he raked the room with his gaze, tail twitching. Quickly the room returned to its former chatter.

Such a delightful place you have led us to, Coraan. It has a certain charm I can’t quite put my claw on, the giant rumbled sarcastically, and glanced at the green-eyed human.

Coraan made no comment as he claimed an empty table near the door.

The big man joined him, wincing at the audible creak from his chair as he settled his large bulk. Remind me again why we needed to come to Gartrox?

I thought Dae said we needed to cross the Irivelt or something, the blonde-haired girl mused, nervously eyeing the throng of rowdy sailors.

The giant snorted. "You must admit it’s not very useful information, little Kelyssa. The least he could do is deign to enlighten us as to how long we’re to suffer sailing on that hraken ocean. He glowered at his silent companion. Now would you stop keeping all your secrets to yourself and tell us where we’re going already? I’d like to avoid any unnecessary surprises."

Coraan stared at him, impassive, as he divested himself of his knapsack. I’ve told you what you need to know.

Which is nothing, you insufferable mute. The big man growled in annoyance as he watched the man in question head for the bar to intercept the owner of the establishment.

Black moon’s light but you won’t get anything out of him by interrogation, master Elorek, the old soldier muttered gruffly, dropping into the chair next to the bull-man. He massaged his left shoulder with a grimace. You know it as well as I do that once Daerem’s decided to withhold information, nothing in all the netherrealms will make him talk.

I got a name out of him didn’t I, General? the bull-man countered. "His birth name, no less."

The soldier nodded, scratching meditatively at his stubbled chin. And by the shadow, I still can’t figure out how you managed it so fast. But it’s just one of many, as we’re finding out. I mean, look at him now. Not ten seconds since we’ve walked in here and he’s already a different man. I’ll bet he’s got another name here too.

-§-

The innkeeper broke into a wide grin at Coraan’s approach. Well, if it ain’t sir Roath himself! Where in the netherhells have ye been? he roared good-naturedly. Quickly he set down the tray of mugs he'd been carrying and wiped his hands on a grubby apron. They clasped hands.

Landlocked for far too long. It's good to see you again, master Tisbol, Coraan said with a matching grin.

And to ye. The keeper reached beneath the bar and withdrew a bottle of dark amber wine. Here, have a glass on me. Fer old times.

Coraan laughed as the man poured him a generous round. Ryss wine, you sly hound? I could never refuse such an offer. Be sure to have a fresh bottle sent to my table. And no. I will not be sharing.

Didn’t think ye would, Tisbol chuckled, sliding the glass across the counter. I see ye have a korath in yer company. What’s the story on ‘im?

Ran into him up near the Shevathn border and he’s refused to leave me in peace ever since. I hope you have enough food in your larder, good keeper. I’ve got a hungry lot for you today. He tilted the proffered glass in salute before taking an appreciative swallow. I see business has improved since I was here last.

That it has, that it has, the man nodded, scanning the crowded common room. Trade’s picked up with the Southern Isles. If this keeps up, I'll be expanding this place next spring.

I'm glad for you. I truly am, Coraan replied sincerely. He hesitated, a slight frown flickering across his face, and then continued softly, Does he still show up?

Tisbol shifted uncomfortably. Coraan followed his gaze to a darkened corner where a black-garbed man sat alone.

Does he still cause trouble? Coraan murmured, unable to tear his eyes away from the pale lanky form partially obscured by restless shadows.

The innkeeper sighed and picked up an empty mug, wiping it with a wet cloth. Not often as of late, Sir Roath. But there ain’t much we can do about ‘im in any case. So, we’ve jest had te get used te his ways.

A heart-stopping shriek interrupted their exchange. Something darted past Coraan's face and a wicked gash split his cheek. Shocked, he cradled his bleeding jaw and watched the culprit glide over to the solitary figure. With a flip of its ebony wings, the huge raven gave another chilling shriek and settled on the man’s shoulder.

"Well...we're almost used te it," Tisbol said with a shudder. He handed Coraan his damp cloth.

Coraan accepted the offered rag and dabbed tenderly at the wound on his stinging cheek. At least now we know there shouldn’t be an incident tonight. But to other things, I have a favor to ask of you.

The innkeeper nodded. He set down the clean mug and picked up a dirty one and a fresh rag. What's on yer mind?

I need a recommendation for a good helmsman. We'll be traveling a fair distance and I must have someone who really knows the sea.

Which direction are ye headed?

Due west.

The mug slipped from the innkeeper’s hand and shattered on the stained wooden floor. He gave the man his full attention. Due west, sir Roath? he repeated slowly.

Coraan nodded.

Ye'll not be finding many here who would take that trip willingly. Ye know how violent the storms can get. They’ll pounce on ye out of a clear sky with hardly a warning! None of the ships here will sail anywhere but east and south. West be far too dangerous a stretch of ocean. The few fools to attempt it have never come back.

Coraan placed both hands on the counter and leaned forward, a grim expression on his face. West is where I must go, master Tisbol. Do not speak to me as if I don’t know the perils of the sea. I've survived the Irivelt before, or have you forgotten how I came to be here in the first place? All I need is one man willing to take that risk with me.

The innkeeper stepped back from that intense gaze. "If ye say so, sir Roath. I meant no offense by it. Perhaps I can help ye find one man here fool enough to accompany ye on yer one-way trip. He glanced thoughtfully around the room and pointed. How 'bout old Gavlin? He's been a sea-salt fer over forty years but now he comes in fer a drink every night ever since his ship was smashed in a fog bank."

Coraan took one look at the wizened old seaman and shook his head. I don't think he'd survive the journey. One Irivelt storm would tear him apart. Anyone else?

The innkeeper thought for a moment before indicating another. Homnar? He's got to have at least eighty successful storm rides under his belt, granted they be the southern storms. He did sail his crippled ship halfway 'round Khandren and safely into port single-handedly.

Coraan eyed the rough sailor with the yellowed teeth and the patch over one eye, laughing loudly at his table. He frowned. Homnar...as in former member of the pirate ship Roscalla Viletta?

Tisbol’s brows furrowed and then memory kicked in. He nodded.

Coraan let out a gloomy sigh. No.

A commotion broke out at one end of the room where some unsavory characters were gathered around a dartboard. A huge bear of a man turned from examining the board to glare at a dirty sailor who looked not much older than thirty. The young man had a light frame, a bow and quiver of arrows over one shoulder, dirty mouse-brown hair, a dirt-smeared face, a thin nose, and sharp intelligent hazel eyes.

Here you! This ain’t possible. Ye’ve been throwin’ like piss fer the last three sets. How did’je manage te make three bull's eyes in a row, ye rotten cheat? the bear-man growled.

I knew we never should’a trusted that gaerosh-speakin’ foreigner, Captain, another man grumbled, fingering his dagger.

The accused stood hunched as though bracing himself for an expected punch, yet spoke boldly. "Dae'l falikher ki nort palgisen tsel hoss kviestes, gorste cheskhartim vit de kalsted. Rik berkot dael victestak quolterek, tsofirots tsel...tsel kighe borsk puveltskalen vit tralaskov!" He spat.

The hulking captain roared and swung his fist. The foreigner laughed, his voice ringing a pleasant tenor, and easily dodged the bulky man's swing. Failing to hit his target three times in a row, the bear-man drew his sword instead. The younger sailor drew a knife from his sleeve and feinted, blade flashing to parry the attack. The angry man’s pals clustering around the dartboard, almost a dozen of them, rushed to assist their leader. The sailor danced nimbly around the clumsy men as though they were enraged bulls, evading each furious swing.

The innkeeper turned at a sound beside him. Coraan was laughing. What? What, sir Roath? What did he say? he insisted.

Coraan wiped a tear from his eye. "My gaerosh is a little rusty, but if I translated that right, he said: I’m sorry to have beaten you so badly, oh great champion of the darts. At least I win fairly unlike you, you low-down puddle of snake-spit!"

Tisbol broke into a hearty laugh. He's got guts, I'll grant him that.

Coraan watched the young man dance around the angered sailors, a grin plastered on his face as he deflected every blow. Who is he? he asked, still watching the show.

The innkeeper’s eyes lit up and he tapped his forehead. "What have I been thinkin’? He’s yer man, alright! He’s new here so I don't know much about ‘im yet. But someone said he's claimed to have come all the way from the rumored land."

"You mean, Istera. Now that is promising."

He saw the foreigner get backed into a corner he couldn’t escape from. This could get ugly. Excuse me for a moment, Tisbol. Coraan handed back the rag he’d borrowed, making a move to intervene.

The innkeeper snagged his sleeve as he turned to go. Before you go running off. Will ye be needin’ anything else?

Coraan thought quickly. Food for my table, attention to our horses, and beds for the night. And I will be needing my ship. That will be all.

Coraan sauntered across the room, vaulted over a table, and landed next to the cornered sailor. The aggressors halted, surprised at the sudden intrusion of the green-eyed stranger with the ugly gash across his cheek. Coraan’s sword was already in hand.

Galta! Coraan greeted, switching smoothly to the foreigner’s native tongue. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the young man, facing off against the confused ruffians. Might I be of assistance?

Much obliged, I'm sure, the man replied in turn, breathing hard. He flipped a dirty lock out of his hazel eyes. May I ask who you might be to offer such help?

Coraan glanced at the advancing men. Now may not be the best time for introductions. However, I have a proposition for you if you're interested. But only when we are done with these brutes. Flats only, please. I don't wish to rob the good innkeeper of paying customers. Care to join me at my table?

I'd be delighted. Shall we?

With pleasure! Coraan’s sword flashed and he disarmed one of the men before they realized he had moved. The foreigner dodged a fist and elbowed the man in the gut, felling him by reversing his knife and driving the hilt into the side of the neck. Coraan used the felled sailor to his advantage and launched off the sailor's back, using the flat of his blade to stun another man. His free hand curled into a fist and quickly found its mark. A man reeled back with a broken nose. Coraan followed up with a swift series of blows and his luckless opponent collapsed in a heap. Coraan caught a fist that flew past his shoulder and swept his assailant’s legs out from beneath him.

The foreigner was free to move again, his attackers trying to catch him as he spun out of reach of their clanging steel. He had just cleared his way to the edge of the melee when a crossbow bolt stabbed into his hip. With a gasp, he stumbled and went down.

Coraan saw his partner fall, the remaining men closing in around him. Yelling a challenge, he lunged, swinging his sword in a vicious arc. The cluster of men were knocked clean off their feet. He used the pommel to knock out the nearest sailor and then stood protectively over his groaning companion.

The three remaining sailors, which included the captain who had instigated the fight, stared at him and then at the man he guarded.

Coraan flicked his blade at them. I'm warning you. Come any closer and I’ll be forced to stop using the flat of my blade. And believe me, I will make you wish you had never met me. Now go back to your business before I change my mind.

The captain growled. "That man be our business. Get out of the way!" His cohorts shuffled nervously but held their ground.

Coraan's sword blurred and the leader cried out as he clutched his arm, weapon clattering to the ground. A line of crimson on his sword arm oozed blood through his fingers. The others glanced at Coraan, then at their injured leader. Cautiously they inched away, dropping their weapons. Coraan nodded his approval and they hurried away. Turning red with rage, the bear-man glowered and took a menacing step forward. Coraan shook his head and, balling his fist, delivered a punch to the captain’s jaw so hard the man spun in a half-circle before falling over. Satisfied he turned to the wounded man at his feet and sheathed his sword.

Are you all right? How deep did the bolt bury? he asked in gaerosh.

The man grimaced as he extracted the dart from his thigh. Not too deep. My thanks, sir. My punishment could have been a lot worse. I'll be all right, he said as he took the proffered hand and let his rescuer haul him to his feet. He pulled a grimy cloth from his pocket and pressed it against the wound. You had mentioned a proposition for me?

Coraan nodded. Perhaps we can discuss it over a meal with my comrades?

Lead the way.

Coraan headed back to where his four travel companions sat waiting. They were watching him with varied degrees of interest. His wolf wagged his tail in greeting.

As the limping sailor took a seat, the big man eyed his friend speculatively. Well, Coraan. I'm glad to see you're back all in one piece. Did you have fun? He gave the human a sniff and added, Did you realize your face is bleeding?

Coraan shrugged, uncaring, and sat down. Absently he bent down to whisper in the wolf’s furry ear. The wolf cocked his head, listening, and turned to regard the rest of the boisterous tavern. Then he settled down behind his master’s chair with his head between his paws, watchful.

The foreigner glanced curiously at the man who had come to his rescue. Co...raan? he asked haltingly. At the man’s inquisitive gaze, he continued in gaerosh. Is that the name I should call you by? In truth, my thanks again for your assistance back there. I am in your debt.

It was nothing.

The sailor looked around the table, suddenly self-conscious. I forgot myself. I am being rude not to even inquire. Can your friends understand me?

Coraan glanced at the others. Both the big man and the girl were giving them looks of blank incomprehension. The general, however, seemed to be following their conversation.

Apparently not much. How much common do you understand?

The sailor shrugged. I understand most but I can speak very little of it, he admitted.

Coraan? May I ask what in Urorek’s name is going on? the bull-man interrupted, his ears twitching back in annoyance. You suddenly jump into a fight not your own and bring this other-speaking stranger to our table. What's your game? He glanced askance at the filthy human sitting next to him.

Coraan leaned back in his chair. I suppose we are getting ahead of ourselves. I didn’t catch your name, good sir.

I be Tarnax, the sailor said slowly. He looked the giant up and down. I no what...no...uh... With a frustrated sigh, he rattled off a stream of gaerosh.

Coraan listened attentively before turning to his companions. "He apologizes for his poor speech. He can understand us well enough but can’t speak much common. He says he’s from Frikhastan of Ishtaroth, Istera. He is curious to know what you are, Elorek. He's never seen your kind before," he translated with a slight grin.

Elorek smirked and scratched behind one of the two sweeping horns that protruded from his bull’s head. "I'm a korath, if he wants to know, though I doubt that means anything to him. As for myself, I've never heard of this barbaric language you seem suddenly fluent in nor of this Istera place. Is it a real country, Coraan, or is he just pulling our tails?"

Coraan rolled his eyes as the sailor shook his head with a smile. It's real, Elorek. I've been there. How else could I have learned the language? Did you think that Khandren was all there is? There’s more to the world than this backwater island that only takes a month and a half to travel from end to end.

Elorek crossed his arms across his barrel-chest with a deep irritable growl. Watch your manners, Coraan. You’re being a bit more insufferable than usual today. It’s been a long day and my patience is wearing thin. Why is this human here?

"We’ll get to that in a moment. Now, care to tell our comrade who you are? he prompted. Names come before business here."

The soldier leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms with a dark frown, remaining silent. The blue-eyed girl was staring at Tarnax in open curiosity. You talk funny, she commented, her head in her hands.

Tarnax grinned at the blunt observation. So do you, little miss, he replied in his own language. He gave her a wink. Coraan shot him a warning glance and he flinched. Chastened he reached a dirty hand across the table and spoke next in common. You be...?

The girl took it without hesitation. Kelyssa Evanch of Imoret. Nice to meet you.

"Galta, Kelyssa." He turned to the korath and held out his hand.

After a suspicious sniff of the grubby offering, the bull-man enveloped it in his own ham-sized fist with only a hint of a growl in his throat.

"Galta...Elorek? That be name you?"

The big man nodded and released his grip. Lord Elorek Brightclaw of Sheravash. He stared distastefully at the dirt now covering his hand from the brief contact.

Tarnax flexed his fingers and then held out his hand to the final member at the table.

The general stared at the hand, then at the sailor. "Galta...kibashak," he grunted, making no move to shake the offered hand.

"The dour-faced tralaskov is the general Gorgedt Laschor of Iverastra, Coraan spoke up and the sailor chuckled nervously, withdrawing his hand. Coraan’s green eyes glinted cold as they locked with the hazel ones of the general, and his next words bore a subtle somber weight. Forgive him, he can be somewhat...unreasonable when the mood takes him."

Chapter 2

There is a fine line between foolishness, audacity, and insanity.

I like to cross it at least once a day.

~Drayce N’hargeth

.      .

Gorgedt? Possessed ??

Coraan couldn’t believe it. He twisted to avoid a sword thrust and parried it away. How? When? He kept up a quick series of defensive blocks, testing his opponent’s sword-work for vulnerabilities as his mind raced to find a way of disarming his challenger without having to kill him.

Moonlight through the trees revealed his attacker all too well. A gray traveler’s cloak billowed around the stocky powerful form of the general as he hacked at Coraan’s defenses with almost mechanical savagery. Light from their dwindling campfire glinted off a familiar head of black and pepper-gray hair, square jaw, and stubbled beard. But the eyes...Gorgedt’s eyes were wrong. Lacking pupils, his cloudy hazel eyes stared unnervingly through Coraan without seeing him.

Coraan could hear his wolf, Craal, barking fiercely at the pair of them, but as instructed, he was keeping a clear distance from his master's fight.

Don’t interfere, Elorek! Coraan warned, catching a glimpse of movement from the korath off to his right. The giant bull-man was gripping his long-axe in both hands, clearly wanting to help, but held himself in a defensive position between them and Kelyssa.

"Hraka, but what’s gotten into him? He’s insane!" Elorek’s voice was filled with disbelief.

Coraan didn’t answer. He was disturbed at how there was a certain mindlessness to the general’s attacks. Gorgedt didn’t seem to regard his own safety as a priority. In fact, there were so many openings to the old soldier’s offensive that Coraan had to deliberately hold himself back to keep himself from dealing a killing blow. It was almost as if the man wanted to die.

A well-placed kick sent his attacker staggering back. Gorgedt, stop this! Snap out of it! he snarled, feeling his own anger rising. He had to end this quickly.

The general’s face showed no sign that he had heard him. As soon as he regained his footing, his sword came up again and he lunged at Coraan. Their swords came together with a resounding clash that echoed through the still forest.

Coraan grunted as he blocked a series of powerful blows and swept the man’s legs out from under him. There had to be a way to bring him back to his senses. But how?

He watched Gorgedt roll back to his feet and noted how he had pushed himself upright with only his right arm. His left was tucked up against his chest as though it pained him. Kelyssa’s words came back to him:

His left arm, Dae! He has an old wound that hurts him but he never let me help him!

Coraan gave a tight-lipped smile. "You’re not going to enjoy this, General."

He feinted and dodged around the trees until one blocked him from view. Silently he slipped behind another tree and waited, poised and ready. Gorgedt passed by his hiding place, his unseeing eyes shifting this way and that. The moment his back was turned Coraan sprang forward and drove his sword hilt as hard as he could into the general’s left shoulder.

Gorgedt hit the ground screaming. Hands clawed at the grass as he twisted and spasmed in pain. Coraan kicked Gorgedt’s sword away and stomped on the general’s shoulder again, eliciting another agonized howl.

Coraan! Elorek ran up to them at the scream. Then he slowed at the sight of Coraan standing over his opponent with his blade at the ready. Is he all right? What have you done?

Coraan kept his eyes fixed on the writhing figure beneath him. I don't hold with being attacked without cause. His voice was dangerously soft.

Nether...hells... Gorgedt groaned. A shudder ran down his spine and he jerked his head violently from side to side, as though to rid it of a particularly disturbing thought. He tried to sit up but a boot stomped on his chest, pushing him back down. Reluctantly his eyes blinked open. The pupils had returned and his brown eyes were no longer clouded. He flinched under Coraan’s piercing stare. Somebody tell me that was only a nightmare...

You attacked me. Coraan’s look warned the general against making any further move.

Black moon’s light. The older man covered his face with a hand and a tremor shook him as though he suffered a chill. I couldn’t stop it.

Stop what?

I... He couldn’t say it. Whatever damning words he might have uttered locked themselves behind an iron-tensed jaw.

Coraan’s eyes narrowed at his silence. "Time to explain yourself, General. No more secrets." He drove his heel into Gorgedt’s bad shoulder again. Gorgedt let out a hoarse cry.

Coraan, leave off! Elorek barked.

Coraan found himself hauled back, an oversized fist gripping his collar. Elorek pushed past him and knelt to help the moaning figure sit up. Coraan grudgingly backed off to allow him the room. He caught sight of his young ward standing wide-eyed a little way off, and shifted to block her view of the soldier’s twitching form.

Gorgedt’s groans suddenly turned to a labored wheeze, gasping as though he were unable to pull enough air into his lungs. No. Don’t you...dare! he rasped, eyes bulging as a look of horror crossed his face.

"Hraka, Gorgedt. Gorgedt!" the korath yelled.

Gorgedt’s pupils rapidly shrank to pinpricks. Coraan reacted instantly, glancing his fist off the general’s temples, stunning him. Gorgedt went limp.

Coraan! Elorek snarled, rounding on him. Why would you...

To help. There was no malice in Coraan’s expression this time. Silently he stooped and unclasped Gorgedt’s cloak as the big man steadied the lolling head. He reached to loosen the collar but froze in mid-reach.

What is it? Elorek asked softly.

Coraan couldn’t stop his hands from trembling faintly and felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise. He peeled back the general’s shirt to reveal a series of blue flame tattoos scrawled across the collarbone from shoulder to shoulder.

"He’s been marked."

Gorgedt stifled a despairing groan as consciousness returned. By the Shadow. He blinked, his eyes somewhat unfocused but otherwise back to normal. Reflexively he clutched at his chest, pulling his shirt closed to conceal the evidence. I never thought I’d see the day when I would raise my blade against a comrade. Shadow’s light but why couldn’t you have killed me when I gave you the chance? You had every right.

How can you even think like that, Gorgedt sir! Kelyssa piped up with a stamp of her foot. She had been forgotten in the heat of the crisis and all three men looked up at her in surprise. She was on the verge of tears, but she hugged herself tight to keep them in check. It was an accident. You wouldn’t do something like this on purpose, so just say you’re sorry and that will be the end of it. I don’t want to hear anything about anyone killing anyone else!

Coraan spoke into the slack-jawed silence. How long have you been fighting it?

Gorgedt sighed and closed his eyes. Since the day I took down Zcull in the Jyhishron Forest and brought him before His Majesty for sentencing.

Coraan was taken aback. "You mean to tell me you have been secretly fighting back Melorvine’s influence over your thoughts for the past two months? A hint of awe colored his voice. The taint...how far has it spread? Show me."

I suppose there’s no use hiding it now, Gorgedt muttered grudgingly. Though reluctant, he shrugged off his shirt with some difficulty to reveal the extent of the flaming tattoos. With a groan, he gripped his injured shoulder as though it might fall off and took a deep steadying breath. It’s only a matter of time before I’m gone for good. He had me today. And if it hadn’t been for that knock to the head, I’d have lost it again.

Coraan was mesmerized by the sight of it. A mass of blue flame tattoos scrawled up Gorgedt’s right hand to the shoulder, with a smaller strand of it continuing onwards across the collarbone to the opposite shoulder. He couldn’t fully keep the shock from showing on his face. But you were able to pull yourself back. How have you been able to keep your mind intact for so long?

Gorgedt glowered at him. How in the netherhells should I know? You seem to know a lot more about this curse, or whatever it is, than I do. Why are you so interested in it?

Coraan’s face locked back into its familiar stony mask at the pointed question, and got to his feet.

Gorgedt struggled back into his shirt and Elorek helped him to his feet. "I’ve had to expose my secret. I’d say it’s your turn to part with one of yours, Daerem."

Coraan turned to leave when a glimmer in the grass caught his eye. He walked over to where Gorgedt’s sword lay abandoned and nudged it with his foot. Where did you get this? he asked tonelessly.

Gorgedt glanced at it and scowled. That? I confiscated it from that bloody alecra when I captured him. Don't know why I’ve kept it on me, other than that it's a good blade. Why?

Coraan was silent for a moment, staring at the red hilt, as memories bubbled to the surface. With a mental curse, he forced them down and headed back to where their campfire had nearly crumbled to ash. Because that is a blood-curse sword. I'd not draw it again if I were you, he replied as he knelt to rebuild the fire.

The general hesitated a moment before retrieving the sword, sheathing it slowly. And you know this how? With a faint shiver, he settled down next to the rekindled fire.

Coraan touched his arm and a glimmer of apprehension flickered across his face. He caught sight of Elorek watching him and took a deep breath. He pulled back his sleeve to display a thick red scar across his right forearm and forced himself to speak. Three years ago, I took a blade that was meant for Shayn, he murmured softly, eyes drifting back to the dancing flames. He let his sleeve cover the mark. "It was a matter of minutes before Melorvine fully ensnared my mind. I took fifty of Shayn’s best men into the Vanishing Marshes and slaughtered them." He sat back against a tree and absently pulled out his pipe.

That was you? Gorgedt exploded. Coraan flinched, refusing to look at him. The general rubbed his injured shoulder gingerly. "So how did you get him out of your head?"

He made me take my own life and left me for dead.

The fire crackled and popped in the troubled silence.

Gorgedt stirred. He looked haggard, but his face was set. I want you to kill me, Daerem.

Kelyssa was horrified. Gorgedt, no!

What nonsense is this? Elorek said, incredulous.

Coraan bore an unreadable expression, but remained silent.

I’m tired of fighting, Gorgedt continued grimly. Tonight is proof that ultimately my resistance will fail. I’d rather die by your hand now while I still have possession of my mind than live with the knowledge that I will eventually betray you to that monster.

No.

You can’t seriously expect us to continue traveling together as if this never happened! the general argued hotly. If I stay in this company, I’ll only be a danger to everyone. And what if it’s not you I attack next? What if it’s Kelyssa? Or some innocent stranger? And if you leave me behind, I might be turned to attempt His Majesty’s life! Who knows what atrocity Melorvine might think up for me to commit? The only possible option we have is to remove me as being a threat to our mission.

Coraan’s stare took on a hard edge. No.

What other choice do we have, Daerem? Gorgedt exploded, surging to his feet. He’ll take me over again. We both know he will. How can you be willing to risk the casualties when I fall?

There was an odd look in Coraan’s eye as he blew out a stream of pipe smoke. You are our comrade, he said quietly. I will not allow that wizard the satisfaction of tearing our company apart.

But what if I...

Now that we are aware of your condition, we will know the signs to look out for.

But I...

End of discussion.

Gorgedt wavered, uncertain. It seemed that hope and despair warred through him as he faced Coraan’s outward calm. Are you sure about this...Daerem.

Coraan nodded. I won’t let him take you. I will bring you back however many times it takes. As long as you swear to keep on fighting it.

Then promise me one thing, Daerem, Gorgedt returned slowly. If there comes a time you can’t bring me back, I want you to be the one to kill me.

To that you have my word.

-§-

The innkeeper came up to their table with a steaming tray in his hands. Ah, sir Roath! Here’s yer meals as ye asked, and I've seen to yer beasts. Coraan opened his mouth to speak but the innkeeper interrupted him with a chuckle. Yes, sir. I’ve got another three platters on their way. Should be enough to feed yer korath, companions, and yer new friend here. I know ye well, sir Roath, I knows ye too well.

You certainly do, master Tisbol! Coraan laughed and handed him a pouch of coins.

Tisbol turned to leave and caught sight of a hopeful wolf. Of course, my furry friend! I didn’t forget ye. Catch! He tossed a large ham bone in the air. The wolf caught it mid-flight and settled down to enjoy the treat. With a chuckle, the innkeeper left to serve his other customers.

Elorek gave his companion a questioning glance as he took a swig of ale. "Sir Roath?"

Told you he’d have another. Collecting names seems to be a hobby of his, the general said in wry amusement.

Coraan’s face locked down into a cold disapproving mask at the gibe. He commandeered the bottle of wine the innkeeper had left him and poured himself a glass. It’s just a name. Leave it be, he replied stiffly, a hint of anger creeping through his otherwise impassive voice.

Elorek shrugged and turned his attention to the food and the curious new addition to their party.

The sailor was also staring at the korath, intrigued. Finally he shook himself and pushed his empty plate away from him. Co-raan...Roath...you name? he said, struggling with his limited common.

Coraan forced a smile and picked up his drink. "May as well use Coraan. It’s the name I go by at present." He took a sip of his wine.

Tarnax licked his lips, sweat breaking out on his grimy forehead in his effort to translate his thoughts into the unfamiliar common tongue. You give idea I?

Idea? Oh, my proposition. Yes?

Tarnax nodded and wiped his damp brow with the back of his filthy hand, smearing more dirt across his face. What idea you have me?

Coraan glanced at Elorek and then let out a slow breath. Yes. We have a proposition for you, Tarnax. We have need of an experienced sailor who would be willing to sail the Irivelt channel. We need to make it to Val Toar of the Seurthian Isles. Could you do it?

First I’ve heard of this. Thanks for the information, the korath grumbled.

Tarnax pursed his lips. "Irivelt be hard water to water-go. I...no water sakrosta. I hire."

Coraan gave a dismissive gesture. A ship is not an issue. All I need is a helmsman. Do you know the route? You’ll be paid handsomely.

The sailor considered it, and then nodded decisively. Truth. I water-go seurth isle.

Then let’s shake on it. Coraan extended his hand to seal the deal when a blur of fur halted him. The gray wolf nudged his leg and wagged his tail like a dog returning to his master with a stick. He had a black-feathered crossbow bolt between his teeth.

Good boy, Craal. Coraan took the arrow and glanced over at the bull-man. It seems someone is still holding a grudge against my prior interference. Would you mind taking care of this? Your powers of persuasion are truly stunning.

Despite his rising annoyance at his companion, Elorek couldn’t help but give a good-natured snort. I expect I merely need to point out the error of his ways? he said, getting to his feet with a lazy stretch. Coraan nodded and handed over the arrow. The korath brought the dart close to his nose and inhaled carefully. Satisfied, he strolled off into the crowded room.

Conversations stopped as every man in the common area turned to watch the approaching giant. The bull-man stopped beside a fidgeting sailor and inhaled again. The man looked up at the seven-and-a-half-foot tall bull-man looming over him and was greeted with a monstrous fist. The force of the blow sent him flying from his chair and the crossbow he had concealed clattered to the floor. No one made a move to help him.

The sailor rose unsteadily to his feet as Elorek approached him again. The human spat and pulled out a rusty knife. Elorek kicked him in the chest. The human sailed across the room and crashed into the far wall. He slumped to the ground. If he wasn't unconscious already, he at least took care not to move. The giant waited for a moment longer but, when it was clear the man wouldn’t try anything further, calmly returned to his table. It was only after the big man had seated himself that conversations resumed.

Feeling better? Coraan pushed a fresh tankard of ale across the table as the big man sat down.

A bit, Elorek admitted with an easy grin, accepting the mug. I’d be even better had it been your face I’d just hit.

Mine is off-limits at present.

Pity. I had to hold back you know. You humans are so fragile.

Dae? I don’t mean to interrupt, but...

Coraan glanced at the speaker from over his wine glass.

Kelyssa tugged at a blonde lock, betraying her nervousness. Do...do you know that man in the corner? The one with the big black bird? He’s been staring at you for a while now, so I thought maybe... She shuddered. I’m sorry if he’s a friend of yours, but he gives me the creeps.

All eyes were drawn, some rather reluctantly, to the shadowed corner where the black-clad man sat whispering to the raven on his shoulder.

The man wore the blacks of an assassin and bore no visible weapons. His hair was soot-black though it caught the light with a disturbingly bloody tint. His face was almost pure white, as though it had never seen the sun, and his angular profile displayed a long thin nose, hollow cheeks, and eyes as black as pitch. Yet the eyes themselves held a faint red glow though there was nothing around to cause it. A thin white hand offered a strip of unidentifiable meat to the bird, who snatched it from his hand. The red blood of the raw meat stood out in stark contrast on the man's pale fingers.

Coraan’s normally impassive expression cracked at the sight. No, he whispered, a sliver of dread in his voice. He’s no friend.

Dae? His ward’s query was filled with concern.

The raven looked up, bloody meat still dangling from its beak, and caught Coraan in its stare. Coraan shuddered as his eyes locked with the raven's, suddenly unable to break contact with that horrible gaze. The raven's black feathers had a glossy red tint like that of its human companion. And the eyes...the eyes held an identical crimson glow.

Coraan could feel a familiar terror welling up inside his chest. Look away...come on, look away! his mind insisted. It was no use, though. He was caught in a snare that he couldn’t break free. He felt himself falling...falling...

Cokharn! Tarnax punched Coraan's arm. Coraan's head snapped around to look at him and the moment passed. The dirty sailor relaxed a little as the man’s dilated pupils returned to their normal size. Tsel galvar, Cokharn?

Coraan wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Yes...dae’l galvar, Tarnax," he replied, glancing back at the raven to see it devour its scrap of meat. With another unnatural shriek, it took to the air, circled the room once, and swooped at him. He threw his arms up to protect his face and let out a grunt as the raven's beak tore a wicked gash along his forearm.

Enough already! You lost! he yelled after it. It perched among the rafters and smugly gulped down the strip of flesh it had stolen. His comrades were staring at him.

Don't look at it, Elorek! he snapped, noting the drawn gaze.

The korath slowly turned back and suppressed a shudder. What are they? he asked, wrinkling his nose at the unmistakable tang of blood that now soaked its way through his friend’s sleeve.

De shemassen a vena rhyven, Tarnax replied bleakly.

Elorek looked to Coraan for a translation but could not catch the human’s eye. Coraan was staring at his plate without seeing it, pushing potatoes around with his fork, his thoughts elsewhere. Coraan? What did he say?

Gorgedt let out a grumbling sigh. He seems to have gone mute again, master Elorek. He glared at the foreigner. "I’m a little unfamiliar with those words, kibashak. Something to do with a shadow-stalker and his...well. I’ve never come across the term rhyven. Explain."

The sailor crossed his arms with a growl of his own. "Kroaste tigaltkor daan kibashak. Dae eshyl kriishkaat pa Tarnax. Srak, var guurdratch tsel aadrich kviest morchyyd?"

Elorek glanced from one human to the other. I take it he doesn’t like whatever you’re calling him, General. Would you mind keeping a civil tongue in your head so we can talk like men?

Another headache coming on? Kelyssa guessed, watching the soldier dig his knuckles into his temples. She turned back to the scowling sailor. I’m sorry if he’s being impolite, mister Tarnax. It’s been a trying few days for us. Would you please tell us about this...what did you call him again? She...she-mass...

Shemassen, he repeated, somewhat mollified by her conciliatory tone.

Right. Ugh, even that word seems creepy somehow, Kelyssa said with a shudder. She eyed the general with a worried frown. "Gorgedt, sir. You said that meant shadow-stalker? Is that like some sort of assassin or something?"

Gorgedt winced against the sudden throbbing in his head but nodded to the waiting sailor. "Go ahead and explain yourself, Tarnax sir. I’ll try to make sense of it."

Tarnax leaned forward, stealing a glance at the raven perched in the rafters before speaking in hushed tones.

Gorgedt scowled in concentration. "So, you’re saying this shadow-stalker character is some kind of nightmare? He just showed up one day and nobody’s been able to get rid of him ever since. He cursed in disbelief. What do you mean he’s been haunting the Hakiral Wood for thirty years? He looks hardly older than yourself, man."

Kelyssa shifted uncomfortably. I don’t like how you said he’s been haunting the woods. We just came from there. Her eyes stole to the solitary figure in the shadowed corner. With a shiver, she inched closer to the reassuring bulk of the giant bull-man beside her. What does he do?

Tarnax shook his head and pointed surreptitiously at the bird up above. De rhyven.

The general continued the sailor’s broken narrative. That is part of the mystery of the rhyven. Not only does the shadow-stalker have the bird, but he also has a near-identical human double of himself. But the raven and the human twin have never been seen together, as far as anyone knows. We’re lucky only the raven is here tonight. If the shadow-stalker was seen here with his double...someone would be marked to die tonight.

What kind of sick murderer is allowed to just sit around and plot people’s deaths in plain sight? Elorek hissed, horrified. Why doesn’t anyone have him arrested. Or better yet, hanged?

Tarnax waved his hands urgently as though to stop the words from leaving the korath’s mouth. He shot off a string of gaerosh that took the general a few moments to decipher. When he understood, he looked shaken.

Because no one has lived long enough to carry it out, he translated, looking grim. He has some kind of demon sorcery that keeps him from capture. Those that tried to deal with him when he first showed up were butchered beyond recognition. And that is how the shadow-stalker works. He sits here and scouts out his next victim and only leaves when the sun has completely set. In fact, it’s soon time when he’ll go and stalk the forest shadows through the long hours of the night. It’s an ill omen if the human rhyven, the shadow-stalker’s double, shows up. A death has been chosen. Sometimes the townsmen can find the body, sometimes not. When they do, it is mangled beyond recognition. On rare occasions, they have found the victim still alive and untouched but sent completely out of their wits. They rave about seeing eyes everywhere, and it’s only a matter of time before they eventually kill themselves to rid them of the maddening images in their heads.

Coraan finally stirred. "I kept a fire going every night we spent in the woods. Because the Hakiral is the shemassen a vena rhyven's domain. That fire was the only thing keeping him at bay."

Kelyssa looked like she was about to be sick. Dae? she whimpered, face white as a sheet. I think I’m going to need that dream-ward song tonight.

They fell silent, each turned to his or her thoughts, their meal forgotten. All but Coraan and Tarnax looked up as the man called the shadow-stalker rose to his feet and made his way to the