Blood and Honor

Haldin trotted up to join them, looking around to make sure that there were no more of Dravuliel’s minions behind them. More of the Ministry crew had started to scramble down the boarding net, following their leader’s example. Among them, Haldin saw Adalrik d’Cannith, climbing one-handed and holding a rod of some kind under his mechanical arm.

They fought their way to a hatch with a ladder leading below. Haldin glanced down and gestured that there was no threat from that direction. Apparently all hands were already on deck, trying to keep the airship going and fighting off the boarders. Haldin pointed aft, to where the helmsman stood on the raised afterdeck, and the other two nodded. As they crossed the middle of the ship, Mordan glanced up at the underside of their own ship and saw Dria’s homunculus gazing down from the observation dome.

Dravuliel was on the afterdeck, standing behind the helmsman and gesturing to his followers with his great scythe. Despite the weapon’s size, he seemed to wield it effortlessly, sweeping and pointing as easily as he might have done with a wand. As they approached, they could see a thin skin of reddish energy surrounding the blade.

Adalrik caught up with them and pointed his rod at the necromancer. Energy flared, and Dravuliel stepped aside—but the bolt struck the wheel, throwing the undead helmsman back like a rag doll. With the wheel unmanned, the ship began to slew from side to side; she struck a tree that stuck out from the canyon side, slowing slightly and slewing to one side. The necromancer held the wheel with one hand; his mouth was moving but they could not hear his words over the rush of air and the noise of battle. Then he let go, and the wheel remained steady, turning now and again as if controlled by an unseen hand.

Mordan winced as something sharp thudded into his side, and turned to see a spellstitched zombie standing a little way off with one scabrous arm raised. Tumbling like an acrobat. Mordan reached the thing before it could loose another spell or draw a weapon, spitting it through the ribs.

They had reached the back of the main deck. In front of them, wooden doors led into the cabin area, and some narrow steps ascended to the afterdeck. Haldin fired his repeating crossbow, putting three bolts into one of the undead wizards that guarded the stairway, and Mordan half-climbed, half-leaped his way to the top. Quickly dispatching three zombies, he found himself once more face to face with Dravuliel. Despite the rents in his clothing and the minor cuts on his face and hands, the necromancer showed no signs of serious injury or fatigue.

He made as if to block Mordan’s rapier with his scythe, but then let it go. It hovered in front of him for an instant, and then sliced down towards the Karrns head. Twisting to the side at the last moment, Mordan dropped back and watched the animated weapon, judging the time it would take to ready itself for another attack.

As the scythe swung back. Dravuliel made a series of complex gestures, mouthing words that only he could hear. Dipping a finger into a belt-pouch, he traced the image of a skull on his forehead, and black flames leaped from his body, completely enveloping him. Tarrel appeared behind the necromancer, delivering a stab with his short sword. Unable to check his blow, he winced in pain as his arm entered the sheath of black flames.

Dravuliel winced too, with the unexpected pain of the attack. Turning, he spat a single word at the Brelander, slapping him across the face with a hand wreathed in black fire. Tarrel stumbled and fell to his knees, his face twisted in agony while many of Dravuliel’s minor wounds magically healed.

Momentarily distracted by the sight, Mordan found the scythe-blade whistling down at him again. At the last second, he twisted aside, aiming a lunge at the necromancer’s heart—and everything went dark. His first thought was that the darkvision spell Tarrel cast on him before they entered Dravuliel’s lair had worn off; instinctively, he stepped back a few paces, and found that his sight returned—still in monochrome. Working his way around the edge of the blackness, he saw Dravuliel fleeing toward the rail of the ship, with a large feather clutched in one hand.

Mordan ran after him like a panther, bringing him down mere feet from the edge with a flying tackle. The black flames burned Mordan with a cold fire, but he gritted his teeth and held on despite the pain. A dagger stabbed into his side, and at the same time a knee crashed into his groin as the necromancer struggled. Dravuliel sensed the loosening of his grip and kicked him off, springing to his feet. His hands wove a pattern of darkness in the air, and his body turned pale. With a shock, Mordan realized that he could see the timbers of the ship through the necromancer’s body.