* * *

The wind died down before midnight. The heavens were now dark and quiet, with nary a flicker of lightning nor a rumble of thunder. Heavy clouds blanketed the sky, though, and spattering showers fell irregularly and without warning. Standing watch was an uncomfortable job in weather like this. Thrommel, a junior lieutenant, had charge of that duty, with Hornfoot and Blinky currently on guard forward and aft. Every few minutes Thrommel would walk up one rail and check the bow, then head back along the other to see If Blinky, who was at the stern, was alert. Those two would have a four-hour stint, and then they'd be relieved.

"Damn their sleepy eyes," Thrommel muttered softly. "They'll be able to turn in a couple of hours from now, and I'll still be marching around topside in this shitty stuff," he complained, dashing rain from his brow with an irritated sweep of his hand. Just then he heard a sound from Hornfoots duty station.

The lieutenant considered calling out, then decided to move up quietly to see for himself. River pirates were common enough, and perhaps even this close to a major city some of those scum might think Silver Seeker an easy morsel.

Thrommel had his cutlass in hand even as that thought ran through his mind. He'd split many a skull with its heavy blade, and he had no fear of any attackers. One shout from him, and a dozen doughty salts would be on deck and ready to fight. Dohojar too, with his spell-binding, would be there to handle things of that nature. This was no vessel to be boarded by river rats, no indeed.

Creeping carefully in the darkness, Thrommel arrived at a place where he could see Hornfoot's sentry station. The sailor was on his feet, leaning against the foremast, his back to the lieutenant. No one else was around, and there was no sound to indicate any trouble.

Thrommel stepped up beside the seaman, his bare feet making only a whisper of sound in the night. "Everything okay, matey?" he hissed to Hornfoot. When the sailor didn't reply, Thrommel grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to turn him around. He was angry, for the fellow could only be snoozing as he stood.

Hornfoot barely budged, so the lieutenant stepped around and confronted the sailor. Then he saw that Hornfoot was held fast to the mast by a thick-hafted javelin driven through his chest. Both of the man's eyes were gouged out too, and Thrommel's surprise and shock at the sight prevented the lieutenant from shouting an alarm for a couple of seconds as he caught his breath. It was the last breath he would ever take.

Something very dark and huge seemed to emerge from the shadows alongside the lieutenant as if it had been a part of the murkiness. The thing came upright suddenly, towering above him by more than a head. Thrommel didn't have a chance to be shocked by the appearance of this fiend, because the only glimpse he got of it was just the barest of ones, out of the corner of his eye. Before he could do more than turn his head slightly in the direction of the movement, massive arms shot out and horny hands clamped themselves upon the seaman. One covered his face, while the long fingers of the other tightened around Thrommel's throat. The arms moved, the hands twisted, and a dry, snapping sound came from his neck. The man's body jerked and twitched, but that was mere nervous reaction, for it was already dead.

The netherfiend that had killed Thrommel stopped for a moment to enjoy the work it had just done, quickly devoured the man's eyes, and then turned to ward the stern of the ship. "Blinky!" it shouted in a voice that was identical to the lieutenant's. "Get forward here and help me with Hornfoot. The stupid fool's managed to drink himself dead drunk!"

The sailor heard that and came forward on the run. There might be some of the liquor left, and he didn't want to miss out. In his haste, he mistook Hornfoot's body for the waiting lieutenant and stumbled over Thrommel's corpse, but the fiend was already lunging and caught him before. Blinky could hit the deck. "Hello, my fine little human." the monstrous thing piped in an obscenely high-pitched voice. Then it proceeded to kill him slowly, not caring that Blinky's screams were rousing the rest of the men. The netherfiend had already grown bored of doing in humans one at a time. It had been fun surprising these three, but the killings had only whetted its appetite.

As most of the crewmen rushed onto the deck from below to confront whatever attacker had come, an altogether different scene was unfolding in the stem cabins of Silver Seeker. There, Graves stood in the main room, in the quarters that had been Gord's but were temporarily being used by Barrel. The pilot's arrival had roused Barrel from sleep just a few seconds before Blinky's death screams had sounded.

"Give me the sword, dungball, and I might let you live," the towering stick of a man said softly. The navigator was now garbed in robes of sorcerous fashion, instead of the plain garments of a seafarer, and his eyes burned with an inhuman, malign fire.

Without replying. Barrel sprang to his feet, his own sword drawn and ready, for he kept it always beside him on the cot. "Stuff this in your skinny bilge. Graves!" the seaman snarled under his breath, taking a vicious swing at his enemy as he spoke.

The image did not move as he cut through it, and Barrel knew right away that his blade had whistled through empty air. The tall man was not really standing where he seemed to be. He chuckled evilly at the miss. "Know me now by my full name of Gravestone — which also foretells your future, you stupid turd!" the man cackled. "Just drop your silly weapon now and show me where the sword is. Then I'll kill you swiftly and painlessly."

Again Barrel cut at the man, only this time he scythed his cutlass so that it swept in a much wider arc. Barrel was an old campaigner and knew not a little about dweomers and the like. The so-called pilot, who had now revealed himself to be some sort of spell-binder, was certainly protected by a magical displacement, a trick that bent the light and made the eyes see something in a place other than where it was. He shouted as he swung, putting all his might into the blow. Again it sliced only empty air.

At that instant Blinky began screaming from abovedecks; either that noise or Barrel's shout, or perhaps both, roused Dohojar from his slumber in the next cabin. "Devils take you!" Barrel panted as he saw that his second attack was as useless as the first had been.

"More likely I to take them," the phantom figure said mockingly. "For that last stroke I will see you die more slowly, fool; but yield what I ask, and I might have some mercy when you beg." Actually, Grave stone had no desire for an easy surrender now. His bloodlust was rising, and he relished the coming sport. He bided his time, for he could hear Dohojar rustling about, and he knew that the captain's comrade would soon join him in the aft cabin.

As if on cue Barrel called out, "Dohojar, to me! We are attacked!" The shout went unheard by most of the men on board, for they were already rushing forward to help Blinky. But the Changa heard it well enough and immediately came to his friend's aid on the run.

For Dohojar, one look at the scene before him was sufficient. "Very bad!" he cried aloud, even as he began to conjure the most potent spell he had at his command.

"That's not the half of it, lad!" Barrel answered as he desperately sought some way to bring harm to the insubstantial figure. "The blaster just isn't there!" he added by way of advising his shipmate what they were up against.

Just then Habber, first lieutenant to the sailing master, burst into the cabin with a sword in one hand and an axe in the other. In his rush he bumped into Dohojar and caromed off the Changa's back, nearly knocking both of them down in the process. "Uff! Shit!" he cried, catching himself and trying to stand on guard against whatever attacker was at hand.