Chapter 2 – Part 3

“Blessed be the flame,” Ois murmured. “Blessed be the flame. Blessed be…”

Thomas looked at her sharply as her voice trailed off. She was in her normal form, so her pupils were not visible, but he was fairly certain that she was going into shock from the cold water.

Make veins outside, very hot, wrap all over, a better flesh to – He forced that part of his mind shut, and he slid the magical staff under the sheath loop strap that held is greataxe. Keeping his right hand gripping the rope that the half-orc’s hawk had dropped, he again slid his left arm under the armpits of the changeling woman.

Do I hate her, truly?

You must hate her. It was not the other half of his mind. It was not his mind at all. It was the tiny brain of the stormstalk. You must. Her kind stand against us.

SHUT. UP. He was the symbiont’s master, and he forced it into silence. There were some men, normal men, who sought out daelkyr gifts for some reason. They had to be forever on their guard, else the symbiont’s mind would take control. Thomas had no such problem. His flesh and spirit were daelkyr. Half of them anyway. The symbiont obeyed him, hating him, but obeying him, for such was its very making – to obey the Twisted Lords…and their scions.

Build fins from her nose. That was him. Half of him. An insane half that could not leave natural alone.

“I do not hate you,” he said, speaking aloud as he kicked his feet. It wasn’t much, but he wasn’t in the proper position for swimming, and his armor inhibited him too much anyway. “I do not hate you,” he repeated, forcing the other half of his mind into a whisper. “All changelings are liars. I was angry that you made me believe the lie that the Silver Flame could forgive me.” He peered through the rain. Delegado was rummaging around on the deck. Why wasn’t the half-orc pulling the rope?

The answer came screaming down at him, seeking to tear his back up with sharp claws that sought to find his heart beneath his armor. Only the eyestalk saved him, twisting around and firing at the flying fiend. As it was the claws dented and scratched his armor very badly, but the breastplate held.

Thomas looked behind him, and wished that he had not. There were three of them. They had the faces of hateful, angry women, with leathery wings, red eyes, and needle-like teeth. But their lips were a deep and beautiful red.

And the lips were singing.

And he could do nothing but listen.