“You’re welcome.”
Crossing the Phoenix Basin, they were soon out of sight of land. The bright blue-green water stretched out to the horizon, reflecting the sun in a brilliant wash of dancing light. At night, the Ring of Siberys, the moons, and the constellations were mirrored perfectly in the still water, so it seemed they were sailing through the middle of an endless sky. Autumn turned into winter, though they felt little difference crossing the tropical sea. Each day, the sun rose and set a little farther ahead of them, but the air remained pleasantly warm during the day, turning a little cooler at night and allowing comfortable sleep.
Janik noted the passage of days in his journal, but found little else to record. He fell into a comfortable rhythm of work and rest that did much to keep his mind off Maija and Mel-Aqat. But both haunted his dreams, solidifying his sense that resolution awaited him in the ancient ruins.
The easy rhythm came to a crashing end as the sun rose on their sixth week of travel.
“Sail ho!” the lookout shouted, rousing Janik from a deep sleep. He hurried to the deck and joined several sailors on the poop, peering into the distance behind them. He couldn’t see anything, but the lookout—a human so small she looked like an oversized halfling—was still up in the rigging, training her spyglass on the distant ship. “Two masts—can’t see anything more yet,” she called down.
“What are its colors?” Breddan demanded as he emerged from his cabin and started climbing the rigging.
“Give me a moment, it’s gaining slowly. I think—yes, Stormreach, same as ours.”
Breddan grunted. “Which means nothing. Any pirate with a shred of sense would hide his colors at this range. All right, everyone, back to your stations! There’s nothing to see!”
The sailors obeyed instantly, but Janik noticed he was not the only one who kept stealing glances aft. A sense of dread began gnawing at him throughout the day. As the sky started to redden in the west, he stood on the poop deck again, staring at what had become a speck on the horizon. Mathas stood beside him, Dania on his other side.
“I suppose you two with your elf eyes can see it perfectly,” he said, turning his gaze from the ship to his companions for a moment.
“Indeed,” Mathas said.
“See what?” Dania feigned ignorance, but her smile betrayed her.
Janik turned his eyes outward again. “Krael’s on board. I’m sure of it.”
“Of course,” Dania said with a sidelong glance at Mathas, “can’t you see him there on the foredeck, staring at us with grim determination?” She pointed vaguely. “Look, he’s got a crumb in his hair. Slob.”
Despite himself, Janik laughed hard. “I needed that.”
“I know,” Dania said.
“All right, you two,” Janik replied, “stop it!”
“I didn’t say anything,” Mathas protested.
“You know what I mean. So what do we do?” He jerked his head toward the distant ship.
Dania shrugged. “What can we do? He’s gaining on us, even though we’re riding the same wind. We can’t do anything until he’s closer. And even then—well, it might just be a race for the last three weeks.”
“Three weeks. What if he sails right past us? Gets there ahead of us?”
“Well, then we’ll have to make up for it overland.”
“We might have an advantage there,” Mathas said. “He cannot travel during daylight.” Janik gave him a quizzical look.
“Because he’s a vampire,” Dania explained. “Janik, please don’t ever forget he’s a vampire.”
“I won’t. But maybe you experts should give me a refresher lesson about exactly what that means. He drinks blood—I got that. Something about a stake through the heart springs to mind. Hates sunlight, I knew that.” He looked at Dania. “So I know you didn’t really see him on deck. Oh, and you said he took over your mind.”
Mathas arched his eyebrow and Janik realized he had not been present when Dania told that part of her story. Janik bit his tongue, but the elf said nothing and Dania didn’t seem to notice.
“He’ll be difficult to kill,” Dania said. “His body heals incredibly quickly. But even when it reaches its limits, his body just dissolves to mist. I think I told you that’s what happened to the shifter vampire the first time we confronted him. The good news is that Krael isn’t likely to have his coffin nearby—once he dissolves into mist, he has to get to his coffin to rebuild his body. He can’t do that if his coffin’s too far away. Even if it’s on the ship with him, I doubt he’ll bring it across the desert with him.”
“You’ve made quite a study of vampires,” Mathas observed.
Dania blushed slightly. “I’ve been a little single-minded myself this past year and a half.”
“Wait,” Janik said, his voice rising a little. “Is that what this is all about? You getting your revenge on Krael? So was all that business about some spirit we released just for show? To make me feel like I had a responsibility for the good of the world to come and sort things out?”
“You’ve got no business getting angry at me, Janik,” Dania said, her voice still calm. “That’s the same reason you’re here. You and I both have personal motives for our involvement, but that doesn’t change the purpose of our mission. The Keeper of the Flame has no grudge against Krael, and she wouldn’t give us so much of the Church’s money just to help us get revenge. Besides, my study of vampires isn’t just about revenge.”
“Of course it’s not,” Janik said, a little quieter, but still biting.
“It’s not. My encounter with Krael made it very clear to me that vampires in general—and Krael specifically—are a blight on the world. I don’t know any greater evil, and it’s worth making sacrifices to fight them, to exterminate them if possible.”
“So you’re going to launch a new crusade, like when the church wiped out all the werewolves? And if a lot of innocent people get staked in the process, like last time, that’s a worthwhile sacrifice, is that it?”
Mathas had quietly stepped back, out of an awkward position between Janik and Dania as their argument grew. Now the two of them were face to face, and Janik punctuated his last point by jabbing a finger at Dania’s heart. Dania drew back and slammed her fist into Janik’s chin. Her gauntlet drew blood, and Janik staggered backward before sitting down hard on the deck.
“Sea of Fire!” Janik swore, clutching his chin. “That’s what happens when people get in the path of your crusades? I guess I’m lucky it was just your gauntlet and not your sword—or your wooden stake.”
Despite the fury that clearly raged in her heart, Dania extended a hand toward his chin but he flinched away. “Hold still,” she said, her voice gentle. This time he let her touch his wound, and warmth spread from her touch. “I shouldn’t have hit you,” she said, though her voice was still sharp with anger. “I’m sorry.”
Janik didn’t answer. He looked down and rubbed his chin, which showed no sign of a cut or bruise. A faint, pleasant tingle was all that remained. A jumble of memories bubbled up inside Janik that hurt far more than the punch had—the feeling of Maija healing his wounds, an earthier sensation somehow, where Dania’s touch was fire. But Maija’s touch had always held more than healing. It was also full of love, and often passion. Bonded to that thought, competing with it, was the memory of the night when Dania had held his chin and kissed him for the first time. He had thought at the time how different her touch felt from Maija’s, but now they seemed more alike than different.
“When I speak of sacrifice, Janik, I don’t mean plowing over innocent people.” The angry edge was fading from Dania’s voice, but Janik turned away, looking back at the tiny ship far behind them. “You will understand before this is over.”