Forge of the Mindslayers: Blade of the Flame Book 2 by Tim Waggoner Read Free Book Online Page A

story by the time their drinks arrived.
    Yvka lifted her clay mug and sniffed the contents with suspicion. “Is the ale any good in this place?”
    Tresslar took a sip of his and grimaced. “If by
good
you mean
awful
, then yes.”
    Yvka considered tasting her ale, but then put the mug back down on the table. It seemed even an operative of the infamous Shadow Network was only so brave. “It sounds as if you four had quite an adventure yesterday. Sorry I missed it.”
    Ghaji listened as Diran filled in Yvka about their hunt for the lich, and from the tone of his voice, Ghaji guessed something was bothering his friend. “It’s not like you to sit with a mug of ale in your hand and relive old glories, Diran. There had to be some other reason why you were discussing the lich.”
    “There was. Did you notice anything strange about her lair?”
    “You’re joking, right? It was a lich’s home—the whole
place
was strange.”
    Diran smiled. “I meant anything unusual for a lich.”
    Ghaji thought for a moment. “Now that you mention it, her lair seemed overdone, almost as if it were something out of a child’s tale.”
    Diran nodded. “It takes a strong will and a great amount of mystic knowledge for someone to transform herself into a lich. In life, such individuals are usually devoted to the acquisition of power in all its forms: political and economic, as well as magical. After they enter a state of undeath, they are loath to give up the riches they stockpiled in life. They surround themselves with finery … ornate clothes, luxurious furnishings, rare and beautiful artifacts of all sorts, though it’s only a short time before the lich’s corruption begins to taint those possessions with rot and decay.”
    “There was plenty of rot and decay in the lich’s lair,” Ghaji said, “but not so much in the way of finery. Even the objects in the chamber that held her phylactery seemed more like a collection of odds and ends taken from her victims over the years than a hoard of prized possessions.”
    “Precisely my thinking,” Diran said. “It was almost as if she purposely constructed her chambers to resemble a fiend’s lair, like a set built for a play.”
    “I acknowledge that hunting and dispatching the undead is your area of expertise,” Tresslar said, “but during my time with Erdis Cai, we ran into more than a few such fiends ourselves. While they often do conform to certain patterns of behavior—much like animals follow their instinctive nature—they once were human, and some remnant of that remains buried inside them. Because of this, the undead sometimes defy expectations, and you find a ghoul that resists its craving for human flesh, a zombie that refuses to obey its creator’s orders, a vampire …” Tresslar broke off, suddenly uncomfortable.
    Ghaji glanced at Diran to see if Tresslar’s words had disturbed him, but the priest’s expression was unreadable.
    Tresslar cleared his throat and hurried on. “My point is that this particular lich, for whatever reasons, chose to create a lair that was different from what most liches would have. Perhaps she built her chambers according to her own expectations of what a fiend’s lair should look like.”
    Diran seemed to consider the artificer’s point for several moments before slowly nodding. “Perhaps so.” He said no more on the matter, and an awkward silence descended over the table.
    It was Yvka who finally broke the quiet. “I wish I could say that I have come here solely to see the four of you again”—she flashed Ghaji a smile—“but I cannot. Instead I’ve come on business. Certain friends of mine have come into possession ofknowledge that I think will be of interest to all of you, but most especially to Diran.”
    The priest, who’d been lost in thought, looked up in surprise. “Indeed?”
    Yvka nodded. “Tell me, is the name Aldarik Cathmore familiar to you?”
    Diran didn’t answer, but his shocked expression spoke for him.