“Hurry! The storm is strengthening,” Captain Kruug
warned.
The draconians held Vandor over the altar. Recalling
how his blood had sizzled upon touching the hot metal, he
twisted and turned, trying desperately to avoid it. One of
the guards finally used its claw to shove him down.
Vandor yelped, then realized that he was not being
scalded. His relief was momentary, though; a fate worse
than being scalded awaited him.
One of the draconians leaned close and hissed, “If you
say one more word, thief, I’ll bite off your tongue and eat
it! I’m sick of your chatter!”
Vandor clamped his mouth tight. Trapped, he
searched frantically for some way out. His gaze lighted
upon the eyeless visage of an armored ghost, rising above
the rail.
In its brown, skeletal hands it held two chains. One
was the skull talisman Stel had given it for the search. The
other, much heavier, chain held a black crystal encased in
an ivory clasp.
“Master Stel, look!” Vandor cried. “You don’t need
me. He has returned!”
Thanks to Shinare! Grizt added silently.
The cleric beckoned the ghost to him. His ungodly
servant raised the pendants high. Stel snatched his
talisman back, but seemed hesitant to touch the darkly
glimmering creation in the undead’s other hand.
“Magnificent! Perfection!” Stel danced back and
forth. Then, recalling where he was and who was
watching, the prefect quieted and carefully reached for his
prize. All sound silenced, save for the wind and the waves
beating against the sides of the minotaur ship.
Vandor Grizt’s ancestor did not at first seem inclined
to relinquish the prize, but a muttered word of power from
the cleric forced it to release its hold. Skull mask eyed
skull face for a breath or two, then Prefect Stel forgot the
impudence of his unliving slave as he looked down at the
pendant.
“The power has leeched away from most of the other
prizes, but this still glows with life! It is all I hoped for
and more! At last it shall serve its purpose! At last I will
take my own rightful place as the greatest of my Lord
Chemosh’s loyal servants!”
Stel raised the thick chain over his head and lowered
the pendant onto his chest. No crack of thunder or blare of
horns marked the cleric’s triumph, but a horrible,
breathless stillness momentarily passed over the region.
Captain Kruug was the first who dared interrupt the
cleric’s worship. “Is that all, then? Are we soon to leave
this place?”
“Leave?” Stel was surprised by the suggestion. “We
can’t leave now! If this artifact still survives, there MUST
be others! I will send them down again! And, with this
pendant, I can summon hundreds of blindly obedient
searchers!”
“You push our luck, human! There are limits – ”
“There are no limits! I will show you!” Raising his
hands high, Prefect Stel cried strange words. The black
crystal began to shine with an eerie, grayish light.
Now, thunder rolled and lightning crashed. An
enormous swell of water shook the TAURON. Rain and
hail poured down.
“Come to me!” roared the ghastly priest.
The water began to froth around them, as if the entire
sea were coming to life. Captain Kruug was either
swearing or praying beneath his breath. He began
bellowing orders. The two draconians, absurdly obedient,
fought to keep Vandor over the altar.
A huge wave broke over the deck, drenching Vandor
and his guards. It became clear to Vandor that he might
DROWN before he could be sacrificed.
Stel ignored the tempest, ignored the maddened sea.
He stared at the water in expectation.
Up and down the TAURON rocked, tossed about like
a toy in a rushing stream. Another wave knocked both
Vandor and the draconians away from the altar. His two
guards maintained their hold on him and saved him from
being washed overboard. One of the draconians grabbed
ahold of the rail and pulled Vandor and the other
draconian closer. All three held on for their lives.
And then …
“Shinare!” Vandor gasped, spitting sea water from his
mouth. “Has he raised ISTAR?”
It seemed so, at first. In the darkness, all Vandor
could see was an enormous, irregular landmass rising