this would rid me of you?â
The necromancer was first to answer. âThis alone? I would say . . . most likely not.â
âBut it would be a first step on the path to redemption,â Aedus was quick to add.
âA demonstration of faith,â Clovis offered.
Morbed stood quiet and still, considering.
âOr you could just do as youâve always done . . .â Jaharra taunted. âAnd run.â
CHAPTER SIX
Morbed raced through the darkened woods as fast as his feet would carry him.
There had been no further deliberation. Instinct took command. Discovering a route that led from the room and out beyond the castle walls had required effort, but self-preservation lent vigor to Morbedâs exertions. In time he uncovered an iron-strapped door opening into a dark, musty corridor, then to a cramped drainage pipe, and with Jaharraâs assistance in defeating the bastionâs outer wards, the thief was suddenly free of the redoubt without crossing the demonâs path. In that much, at least, fortune was on his side.
Now it remained for fortune to smile on him just a bit longer, to lay clear his path to the longboat, to the fishermanâs hulk, and on to the Great Ocean.
Despite this enterprise, the voices of his companions had stubbornly refused to remain silent. Even as they lent aid, such as in the case of the wizardâs assistance in overcoming the wards, they derided and chastised him for choosing once again to flee.
It eased Morbedâs anxiety somewhat to know just who and what the voices were, although a lingering doubt still dwelled in the back of his thoughts, maintaining that the thief had, in fact, gone insane, that the disembodied talk and visions were tokens of a fractured mind. If so, how long until his sanity shattered irreparably? As with all hesitations, second guesses, and reservations, Morbed pushed these nagging notions away.
There was, after all, one scrap of cold comfort to be had in the thiefâs predicament: despite their protestations, the spirits apparently had no direct control over Morbedâs actions. So far as he could tell, they could effect change only with his consent.
Once to safety, Morbed would pick the lock on the manacle and toss the lamp overboard!
Youâre carrying an ensorcelled lamp that magically shackled itself to your wrist , the wizardâs voice interjected wryly. And you really think that will work?
He would find out, one way or another. There was always the possibility of hiring a blacksmith to solve the problem.
Ha!
Failing that, there existed the potential of seeking out a master mage and employing said magic user to extricate him fromâ
The thief stumbled over an encumbrance and pitched headlong into the loam. Cursing, he rolled over, sat up, and raised the lantern.
In its violet aura he spied a corpse, broken and twisted, its limbs contorted at impossible angles. Around it lay dislodged branches, as if the body had plummeted through the trees. Morbed held the lantern away, directed his gaze skyward, and noted the stumps of sheared tree limbs against the starless night. Returning his attention to the dead man, he beheld a white beard and weathered, sunburned skin.
Morbed leaned farther forward, holding the light close. He reached out and lifted the dead manâs hand, turning it over. There, across the palm, he saw scars upon scars, marks of lines and ropes abrading the skin throughout years of toil and hardship, of harvesting the bounty of the sea.
The true fisherman , Jaharraâs voice spoke.
âYes, the fisherman. So heâs not . . . in there with you? His spirit?â
No. Vorik this time.
Jaharra rejoined, The impostor saved my life. He restored balance, and now the spirit of the fisherman is free. It is as Vorik said: acts of selflessness are the only way to even the scales.
You should bury him , Aedus offered.
âYouâre a bunch of damned fools!
The necromancer was first to answer. âThis alone? I would say . . . most likely not.â
âBut it would be a first step on the path to redemption,â Aedus was quick to add.
âA demonstration of faith,â Clovis offered.
Morbed stood quiet and still, considering.
âOr you could just do as youâve always done . . .â Jaharra taunted. âAnd run.â
CHAPTER SIX
Morbed raced through the darkened woods as fast as his feet would carry him.
There had been no further deliberation. Instinct took command. Discovering a route that led from the room and out beyond the castle walls had required effort, but self-preservation lent vigor to Morbedâs exertions. In time he uncovered an iron-strapped door opening into a dark, musty corridor, then to a cramped drainage pipe, and with Jaharraâs assistance in defeating the bastionâs outer wards, the thief was suddenly free of the redoubt without crossing the demonâs path. In that much, at least, fortune was on his side.
Now it remained for fortune to smile on him just a bit longer, to lay clear his path to the longboat, to the fishermanâs hulk, and on to the Great Ocean.
Despite this enterprise, the voices of his companions had stubbornly refused to remain silent. Even as they lent aid, such as in the case of the wizardâs assistance in overcoming the wards, they derided and chastised him for choosing once again to flee.
It eased Morbedâs anxiety somewhat to know just who and what the voices were, although a lingering doubt still dwelled in the back of his thoughts, maintaining that the thief had, in fact, gone insane, that the disembodied talk and visions were tokens of a fractured mind. If so, how long until his sanity shattered irreparably? As with all hesitations, second guesses, and reservations, Morbed pushed these nagging notions away.
There was, after all, one scrap of cold comfort to be had in the thiefâs predicament: despite their protestations, the spirits apparently had no direct control over Morbedâs actions. So far as he could tell, they could effect change only with his consent.
Once to safety, Morbed would pick the lock on the manacle and toss the lamp overboard!
Youâre carrying an ensorcelled lamp that magically shackled itself to your wrist , the wizardâs voice interjected wryly. And you really think that will work?
He would find out, one way or another. There was always the possibility of hiring a blacksmith to solve the problem.
Ha!
Failing that, there existed the potential of seeking out a master mage and employing said magic user to extricate him fromâ
The thief stumbled over an encumbrance and pitched headlong into the loam. Cursing, he rolled over, sat up, and raised the lantern.
In its violet aura he spied a corpse, broken and twisted, its limbs contorted at impossible angles. Around it lay dislodged branches, as if the body had plummeted through the trees. Morbed held the lantern away, directed his gaze skyward, and noted the stumps of sheared tree limbs against the starless night. Returning his attention to the dead man, he beheld a white beard and weathered, sunburned skin.
Morbed leaned farther forward, holding the light close. He reached out and lifted the dead manâs hand, turning it over. There, across the palm, he saw scars upon scars, marks of lines and ropes abrading the skin throughout years of toil and hardship, of harvesting the bounty of the sea.
The true fisherman , Jaharraâs voice spoke.
âYes, the fisherman. So heâs not . . . in there with you? His spirit?â
No. Vorik this time.
Jaharra rejoined, The impostor saved my life. He restored balance, and now the spirit of the fisherman is free. It is as Vorik said: acts of selflessness are the only way to even the scales.
You should bury him , Aedus offered.
âYouâre a bunch of damned fools!
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