Free Cry of the Ghost Wolf: Neverwinter NiChosen of Nendawen, Book III by Mark Sehesdedt Page A

been Guric came first. His feet were bare, but he wore new clothes. Vazhad wondered what had happened to the old ones. Probably they had become so stained and sodden with blood that they had fallen off him. He didn’t even glance at Vazhad as he passed.
    His master came next. The cowl of his hood was down, showing his hairless, blue-mottled head, and by the strength in his stride and the fact that he did not flinch from the torchlight, Vazhad knew that he was looking upon Jagun Ghen.
    He looked at Vazhad, and for a moment the torchlight caught in his eyes, making him look very much like one of the undead baazuled whose black gazes were lit with a tiny spark of fire. But then he looked to the basin. “Well done,” he said. “Well done, indeed. This suits our purposes perfectly.”
    Two more baazuled came next—one a Creel Vazhad had never known, even in life; the other a Damaran who Vazhad thought seemed vaguely familiar. The Creel was carrying a leather bag that sagged with a heavy weight.
    Behind them, Kathkur strode into the yard. The muscles in the eladrin’s face were pulled taut, his left eye twitched incessantly, and the symbol gouged into his forehead flickered with a flamelike light. Kathkur ignored Vazhad, for his eyes were fixed on the basin and the chains that lay there. “What is this?” he asked.
    Three others entered the yard behind him—two more baazuled and the Damaran that Yarin had sent. Vazhad searched his memory for the name. Thudreg? Thidrek? Something like that. He had been the first of the living vessels seized by Jagun Ghen’s brother as a new home. The symbolon his forehead was different than that on the eladrin, and Vazhad wondered if it had something to do with the demon’s name. But it flickered with the same unsettling light.
    “This,” said Jagun Ghen, pointing at the basin, “is a necessary discomfort. Your host is becoming … a nuisance. But an intriguing one. I need to speak to him. But I want him to behave himself when I do so.”
    Kathkur stopped walking and fell into a crouch. His eyes flitted back and forth. “You mean—”
    “You said this one keeps … ‘squirming out’ of your grip, I believe you said. We cannot have that.”
    Kathkur looked back to the alleyway, but the three who had followed him in were blocking the way. “Please … I can control him, lord. I—”
    Jagun Ghen cut him off, “Of all our brethren who have come into the world, only this one has managed to resist us. I must know why.”
    “I-I won’t go back. I—”
    “You
will
do as I say. I am not sending you anywhere, Brother. After all I have sacrificed to bring you here? I would never do that. But I need you to … relent on this one. Just for a short time.”
    “B-but his screams …”
    Jagun Ghen laid a hand on the eladrin’s shoulder. With another, this might have been seen as an attempt at comfort or reassurance. But Vazhad saw how the fingers tightened, the thumb almost tearing the skin.
    “Let us hear those screams, Brother,” said Jagun Ghen. “Just for a while.”
    Kathkur shook his head. “I—”
    He tried to pull away, but Jagun Ghen tightened his grip, and two baazuled stepped forward, grabbing the eladrin’s arms.
    “No!” Kathkur shrieked. “Please, lord! I—”
    But then he lost all words—at least in any language Vazhad had ever heard. The eladrin thrashed and kicked and screamed as the baazuled dragged him into the basin.The symbol on his forehead flared, and inky smoke slithered down onto his face.
    The baazuled fixed the shackles to the eladrin’s wrists and stepped away. Kathkur’s arms were stretched straight out. The chains were almost too short, but they kept his thrashing under control. He couldn’t even stand fully upright, only managing a low crouch. Still, it did not stop him from trying, and his wrists were already torn and bleeding.
    The Creel baazuled with the leather bag stepped forward, and again Vazhad remembered the man in the red