Come Endless Darkness Read Free

through 'til now...."
    The elderly priest squared his thin shoulders and looked grimly at the men who had gathered close to hear the exchange. Forsaking the compliment Barrel had just paid him, Pauncefot saw instead an opportunity to address a higher issue. The abbot spread wide his arms and spoke loudly for all to hear. "Salvation of the sort I have provided is temporary. To be truly saved, you must give yourselves unto Him who is All." Before the priest could say more, growls and mutterings arose from the crowd.
    "We are of the sea," one crewman called. "We trust and believe, abbot, but there are times and places for—"
    "Silence!" Gord shouted. "I am your captain. All of you, quiet!" Then the small, dark-haired thief turned to the cleric, saying, "It is your good counsel and great spells we need. Abbot Pauncefot, not preaching. Even now the evil might be again massing to attack us."
    It was as If the cleric had been awaiting just this sort of opportunity. His face was stern and his voice thundered. "It is not these men whom the demons and dark forces seek to destroy — no! It is you, Gord ~ you, the disbeliever. I cannot fathom you, but I think you are not far removed from those who threaten to carry us all into some watery hell!"
    First the
Sovereign Sea Lion,
next
Stormeater,
then
Seablade,
and now
Silver Seeker
— many of those present had been on each of those ships with Gord. What the priest had just uttered was worse than blasphemy to them, a blasphemous lot anyway. Dirks suddenly appeared in clenched fists, and threats flew thick and fast. Perhaps this self-righteous priest would make an acceptable sacrifice to Brocam the Sealord! Even the young thief, though he did not give the cleric's words any credence, felt a surge of hatred and a desire to see the abbot's blood stain the dun waters around the ship as it lay becalmed.
    This is the next attack of the enemy, Gord Ze-haab! Listen, friends, bold sailors and shipmates all!"
    This voice of reason came from Dohojar, the only man among them all who seemed unaffected by rage. The dark man native to far-off Changar was a spell-worker, an aspiring mage, but despite his uniqueness one of the group nonetheless. His magic was of the West, his inner powers thus slightly different from what the others were used to, and he sensed the black force that lay unseen upon
Silver Seeker
as a dark octopus surrounds a mollusk it is about to devour. "Think now," Dohojar continued when all ears were turned to him. "Would you harm the one who has given us our lives this past fortnight? And you, holy man — do you really dare to condemn this one who champions the fight against all evil?"
    Dohojar's admonition contained sufficient accuracy to give everyone pause. The old abbot started a chant to counteract malign sendings, while the Changa used his own spell-working art to ward off dark magical forces being visited upon them. Gord, Barrel, and the two dozen crewmen stood sheepishly by. It was humiliating to realize that the enemy had almost managed to bring another of its attacks to fruition so insidiously that none but the perceptive little Changa had noticed. "Use whatever rituals and talismans you have to assist our comrades." Gord told the officers of
Silver Seeker.
"And tell your men the same," he added in a hushed voice as the priest and the mage continued their work.
    "I cannot make the magic leave," Dohojar finally said with a gasp.
    "Nor can I do more than force the evil of it but a little way from us," Abbot Pauncefot said slowly. "Yet that may be enough for the time if we are carefully on guard. To know the presence of the enemy is to be armed against attacks."
    "Well and good, stout friends." the burly Barrel said. "I still have the problem of being dead in the water, and the Azure Sea is no place to be becalmed in for long!"
    The old cleric prayed and gave the crew his blessings against the black anger sent upon them by the forces of the netherworld. Then Pauncefot retired to