Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship--found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place and the treasure that he is most likely buried with. Enraged by swarming insects, Seymuhr knocked himself unconscious in a vain attempt to rid himself of the flying pests. Meanwhile, Mira and her companions get a strange visitor...
The main swayed at the edge of the clearing, eyes vacant and arms hanging loosely in front of him. Drool glistened at the side of his mouth. Insects crawled over his face, but he made no move to brush them off. A fat fly paused on his open eye.
Merrick was the first to react. His pulled his blade halfway from its scabbard and took a step in front of me in a protective gesture that I did not appreciate. I snorted, indignant, and moved to get a better view of the man and to see if he was alone.
"State your name and purpose," Merrick demanded.
The figure tilted his head, but made no other move. Breath bubbled from his throat. His hands curled into claws.
"Turnnnnn backkKk." The sounds were harsh and wet, as if the man was unfamiliar with the way the words were formed.
"Who are you?" Merrick demanded.
"How do you know where...we...are go...ing?" Broo-Fang asked. He had appeared on my right. HIs feet were set slightly apart, his left in front of the other, as if he expected to fight.
The shambling man gave him a look that might have been quizzical, had there been any light behind his eyes. I noticed a faint smell that reminded me of moss.
"TurrnNn back," it repeated. Its right arm twitched and the fingers on the hand jerked as if pulled by strings. It occurred to me that this thing--for if it had been a man, it surely was one no longer--was trying to raise its arm and point in the direction we had just come. My stomach hitched and I tasted bile. What manner of evil was this?
Then both of its arms raised in front of it and it shambled forward, fingers reaching toward me. A bolt of ice ran down my spine and I stumbled back, fumbling for my longknife. I needn't have worried. Broo Fang was in motion, spanning the distance between himself and the twitching once-man in a single, lithe leap. The ball of his foot crashed into the side of its skull, staving it in and sending it sprawling in a convulsing heap. Ruined and oozing, the pathetic creature still tried to push itself back to its feet. Broo fang looked down, a disgusted expression on his face, then silenced it with a vicious blow from his staff.
"Bones of Barnok," I breathed. A cold sweat had formed on my forehead. Broo Fang poked at the dead man as Merrick cautiously approached them. Seymuhr was looking to the west, a curious expression on his face. He lifted his head slightly and looked like he was testing the wind like a hound.
I moved toward the twisted form that had once been a man. The mossy smell grew worse; it filled my lungs and mouth like a cloud of stagnant dirt. My eyes watered as I looked down at the vacant eyes that stared up from its shattered skull.
"The evil we track is a potent one, indeed," Merrick stated.
I covered my mouth with my sleeve. He and Broo Fang did not appear to notice the stench--or, at least, they weren't bothered by it. Perhaps that was because they had traveled with Seymuhr longer than I had and were more familiar with foul odors.
"An emissary from the pirate's witch?" I asked.
"It must be so," Merrick answered, bending toward the thing on the ground.
"Indeed it is," said a new voice. We all whirled toward its source. A woman had appeared from the trees, clothed in brown and brandishing a bow with an arrow at the ready. "The bigger puzzle is why would the mountain witch expend such energy to send it. Who, exactly, are you?"
