Sea of Death: Blade of the Flame - Book 3 Read Online Free

much easier for us to transport.” She smiled. “Like a cork contains the contents of a bottle and prevents them from spilling. Just be careful not to touch the damned thing.”
    Makala nodded. “One more thing. I know you told Skarm that Haaken is yours, but if you’re just going to let the man bleed to death anyway …” She trailed off, her point made. She was a vampire, and she wanted Haaken’s blood as badly as Skarm wanted his flesh and soul.
    Skarm couldn’t help it; he turned to look toward Haaken’s body. The great shark was gone, the creature having presumably returned to the dark sea depths that had spawned it. Haaken lay motionless at the edge of the shore, both of his legs gone beneath from mid-thigh down. Even in his barghest form, Skarm could smell the blood flowing from the ragged stumps where the man’s legs had been attached only moments before. His stomach gurgled, and he prayed that Nathifa wouldn’t punish him for it.
    “You can both forget about making a meal of Haaken,” Nathifa said. “Though our toothsome friend has finished his work, the man’s not going to die.” The lich’s dry lips drew away from her yellow teeth in a hideous mockery of a smile. “I have plans for him.”

T he sun hung just above the eastern horizon as the small fishing boat sailed along the coast toward Kolbyr. The water was calm, the sky cloudless, and wind filled the sails. All in all, a good day to be out on the Lhazaar, even with the chill of approaching winter in the air.
    A tall man with long raven-black hair, lean wolfish features, and intense blue eyes stood at the ship’s stern, holding onto a rigging line with one hand to steady himself. He was garbed entirely in black, and though at first glance he appeared to be unarmed, the fur cloak he wore did not stir in the breeze kicked up by the ship’s passage. An experienced observer would’ve guessed the cloak was weighted down, most likely by some manner of concealed weapon or weapons—and they’d have been right.
    Diran Bastiaan inhaled the brisk salt air and exhaled with a sigh of contentment. Though born in the Principalities, he’d been sold into slavery as a child and had grown into adulthood in Karrnath, far from the sea. Still, Lhazaarite blood flowed through his veins, and he only truly felt at home when standing upon the deck of a ship, even one as small and humble as
Welby’s Pride
. The
Pride
was a shallop, a single-masted fore and aft rig propelled by both oars and sails, designed for inshore fishing and limited coastal traveling. Hardlystylish transportation, but serviceable.
    Diran turned and made his way back to the center of the deck where the rest of his companions stood huddled together in a circle. A red gem covered with a lattice of copper wire hovered in the air between them, and though it gave no sign of emitting energy—no glow of light, no shimmer in the air surrounding it—the gem exuded the warmth of a small campfire.
    The others shifted to make room for Diran as he rejoined them, and he held his chilled hands out toward the gem. Diran rarely wore gloves, no matter how cold it was, for they interfered with his knife-throwing grip.
    The crew of the fishing vessel—who’d been well paid to ferry Diran and the others to Kolbyr—ignored their passengers as they went about their work. Just because the crew had paying guests didn’t mean they would pass up the opportunity to fill their fishing nets with additional profit as they sailed. The Lhazaar Principalities were a harsh, unforgiving realm, and its inhabitants had long ago learned to be both practical and frugal if they wished to survive. The animals in the Principalities were no exception: a mass of gulls hovered on the air currents around the vessel, hoping to snatch a free meal from the crew’s nets. Whenever a fish fell out flopping onto the deck, the more aggressive of the birds swooped in, only to be shooed away with waving arms and shouted curses.
    Ghaji,