Voyage of the Mourning Dawn: Heirs of Ash, Book 1

by Rich Wulf

  Tristam blinked in surprise. “What?” he shot back. “You’re just sending me off to my room? Do you even realize that Marth’s ship …”

  “Tristam,” Zed interrupted, fixing the artificer with a meaningful look.

  Tristam glared at Zed, shrugged, and stormed off below deck. Seren watched the exchange with a curious expression, wondering what had just passed between them.

  “What happened down there, Arthen?” Dalan asked as Seren and Zed entered his cabin. The old dog, Gunther, snored noisily on Dalan’s bed. Somehow it had managed to sleep through the entire escape from Black Pit.

  “When I first saw that lens you gave me, it reminded me of something from Ashrem’s work long ago,” Zed said. “But I wasn’t sure. Eraina is a colleague of mine and has been conducting an investigation on a related matter, so I sent her a speaker post to get her insight. She agreed to meet me privately and booked the first Lyrandar ship, but she refused to meet me in the village. Some people just don’t trust me, I guess.” He smiled faintly at Seren.

  “And you followed him?” Dalan asked, looking at Seren.

  “Yes,” she answered. “We saw Eraina meet with Zed. The Cyrans attacked only a few moments afterward.”

  “The soldiers wanted to take me alive,” Zed added. “When that didn’t work, the whole damned ship came after us. They might have killed Tristam if it wasn’t for the Marshal.”

  “Interesting,” Dalan said. “And you saw their ship, Seren? Was there anything notable?”

  “Not really,” Zed said, interrupting her.

  Seren looked at Zed in confusion. “The ship looked like some kind of military vessel,” she said, looking back at Dalan. “Large and silver. I saw the Cyran crest, too. Just like the soldiers we fought before.”

  “That seems rather distinctive,” Dalan said, brows rising. “Strange that an inquisitive missed all of that.”

  “I didn’t get a good look at it,” Zed said. “I was running.”

  Dalan grunted, unconvinced. He looked back at Seren. “Is that all you noticed of interest?”

  “Other than getting attacked by some monster from the pit, yes,” she said. “But why question me about this? Tristam knows more about what’s going on than I do. I think he even recognized the …”

  “Dalan is ignoring Tristam because the boy disobeyed orders,” Zed said, interrupting her again. “It was Tristam’s idea to follow me, wasn’t it? I’m guessing you were just looking out for him.” He reached into his pocket, took out the lens and a small book, setting them both on Dalan’s desk. “Incidentally, you can have these back, Dalan.”

  “Thank you, Arthen,” Dalan said, plucking up the lens and examining it briefly for any damage. He placed it into one of his desk drawers, then tucked the book into a shelf. “He is precisely right, Seren. Tristam is an intelligent young man, but when he behaves in such a childish way I must treat him accordingly. He is too headstrong for his own good. On a ship like this, responsibilities are clearly delineated. To step outside one’s bounds, to disobey orders, is to risk all that we have worked for. If one cannot respect the chain of command, then one must either learn respect or leave.” He looked at Zed briefly.

  “But if we hadn’t followed them, Zed and Eraina would have died,” Seren said.

  “Wrong on two counts,” Dalan countered. “First, their lives are not our concern. No offense intended, Arthen.”

  “None taken,” Zed said with a cynical chuckle.

  “Second,” Dalan said, “you don’t know they were in danger. Any number of things might have occurred differently. The Cyrans did not wish Arthen to die. Perhaps they were only watching, saw you approach, mistakenly believed you intended to attack him and sought to capture him alive. Perhaps the Cyrans followed you—and you led them to Arthen. Perhaps your presence was irrelevant, but Arthen had contingencies in mind. After all,” Dalan pointed to the sword hilt protruding above the inquisitive’s shoulder, “he did attend the meeting armed.”

  Seren looked at him. “Did you have a way out of there?”

  “I had an escape tunnel prepared in that clearing,” Zed admitted. “I could have dashed out and brought it down behind me, but Omax never would have fit inside. I wouldn’t leave the big guy behind.” He gave a quick smile.

  Seren nodded quietly. She suddenly felt very foolish.

  “How noble,” Dalan said dryly. “Perhaps you retained some of your Thrane honor along with your Thrane steel.”

  “You’re very funny, Dalan,” Zed said. “I’m laughing.”

  “So how did you come to know this Sentinel Marshal?” Dalan asked.

  “My contacts are confidential,” Zed said.

  “As long as she is on my ship, she is my business,” Dalan said. “If you wish to retain her anonymity, I will gladly deposit her in the woods. On foot it should take her only five days to reach Cragwar, assuming she can forage for her own food and water.”

  “Fine,” Zed said. “She’s a colleague, like I said. She’s an investigator for the Sentinel Marshals. We’ve met professionally a time or two and kept in touch through speaker posts. If you want more, just ask her yourself. She won’t lie to you. She can’t. She’s a paladin of the Host, for Khyber’s sake. We can trust her.”

  “Oh, I certainly trust those who blindly place their faith in a higher power,” Dalan said. “I trust them to make horrible mistakes, to bring misery to those who disagree with their dogma, and inevitably to die disappointed in the world. I’m surprised you sought a paladin’s aid, Arthen. I thought you abandoned your faith.”

  “This isn’t about me, d’Cannith,” Zed said. “Don’t push me.”

  “Or you’ll silence my uncomfortable truths with your sword?” Dalan asked with a smug grin. “You become more like your old self every moment.”

  Zed’s face darkened. He rose from his chair. Seren took a step back, hoping to look inconspicuous in case Zed drew his weapon.

  “Why did I ever agree to help you?” Arthen asked.

  “Because we both need the truth, and despite our history we both know we can’t find it alone,” Dalan said, staring at his desk as he drummed his fingers on its surface. “So did you learn anything useful from the lens and book?”

  Zed shook his head. “There are definitely hidden messages in Ashrem’s journals that only that lens can read,” he said, “but I couldn’t break the cipher.”

  “Are you certain?” Dalan asked peering up at him. “Imagine that. An inquisitive not only fails to find any useful clues but also lets himself be ambushed twice in one evening. I can’t imagine what that will do to whatever remains of your reputation.”

  “Whatever, Dalan,” Zed said in a dull voice. He stepped toward the door. “Just put me down in Cragwar, or wherever. I was an idiot to get involved in this again.”

  “Zed, please,” Seren said. “The leader of those mercenaries killed a good friend of mine. This was our only clue to stop him from finding the Legacy. If you discovered anything, anything at all, please help us.”

  “Ah, the Legacy,” Zed said with a dark laugh. “Well, we certainly can’t let Ashrem d’Cannith’s work fall into irresponsible hands.”

  “I should have a life as easy as yours, Arthen,” Dalan said. “So easy to walk away. Hide in a bottle. So easy to be offered a choice and make no choice at all.”

  Zed stopped in the doorway, his back to Dalan. His hands tightened into fists.

  “Did you have something else to add, Arthen?” Dalan asked.

  “I didn’t break the code,” Zed said, “but I recognized it.”

  “Oh?” Dalan asked, suddenly interested.

  “Ashrem didn’t create that cipher,” Zed said. “Kiris created it for him.”

  “Kiris Overwood?” Seren asked, remembering the name from Pherris’s stories.

  Zed and Dalan both looked at Seren with some surprise. “That’s right,” Zed said. “It’s magically encrypted. Without the proper spells to translate the code, it might take a wizard or artificer
years to decipher.”

  “I sense an ‘unless,’ ” Dalan said.

  Zed turned around to face Dalan again, extending a hand. “Let me see the lens.”

  Dalan frowned curiously, then opened the drawer and handed the small chunk of glass back to Zed.

  “Look at the frame,” Zed said, tracing the white rim around the edge of the glass. “That’s petrified dragon bone. And look at the characters.”

  Dalan bent to study the item. “More illegible rubbish,” he said.

  “Not quite,” Zed said. “That’s halfling script. It’s a prayer for clarity and wisdom in the name of Balinor, God of the Hunt. It also bears the mark of its creator. These arcane marks are very difficult to forge, and I recognize this one. Kiris Overwood made this herself.”

  “She signed a piece of glass?” Seren asked dubiously.

  “Kiris was a wizard,” Zed said, if that explained it.

  Seren looked to Dalan, puzzled.

  “Wizards are a curious lot,” Dalan explained with a wry smile. “They have always been somewhat jealous of the lasting mark artificers leave with each wonder they create. Their arrogance drives them to personalize the few rare things of use that they leave behind. Rare is the wizard who does not sign his work.”

  “So Marth stole this from Kiris?” Seren asked. “Does that mean he knows how to read Ashrem’s cipher?”

  “In all likelihood,” Dalan said. “A disturbing revelation, but not an altogether surprising one.”

  “There’s more,” Zed continued. “The halflings are a people very much in tune with nature. They believe that the gods recreate the world every year on the first day of spring. That belief is reflected in their language. The characters they use to refer to the gods vary by the year, and from the way Kiris wrote Balinor’s name I can tell this was made within the last year. Overwood is still alive, Dalan, or at least she was recently.”

  “Preposterous,” Dalan retorted. “Balinor’s name? What rubbish is that? You don’t even speak the halfling tongue, much know less their customs.”

  “No, but Gerith does,” Zed said. “When I recognized the script two days ago I made him translate it. I figured if he was going to sit on that roof and spy on me all day, he might as well lend a hand.”

  “Clumsy halfling,” Dalan muttered under his breath.

  “It wasn’t his fault,” Zed said. “I knew you’d send someone, so I was looking. Give him credit. It took me two days to catch him.”

  “Respectable,” Dalan admitted.

  Seren resisted the urge to laugh. Somehow she wasn’t surprised that Gerith hadn’t told them he had been caught, or that he’d continued spying on Zed even though the inquisitive knew he was there.

  Zed sat down beside Dalan’s desk and placed the lens between them. They both studied it intently, and for a time at least Seren could barely tell how much the two men despised one another.

  “It makes sense, Dalan,” Zed said. “If Kiris wanted to vanish, where better than Talenta? A lot of the land is still wild. The halfling tribes keep to themselves. She could fade away there for years.”

  “Working to unravel the secrets of the Legacy on her own,” Dalan mused.

  Zed nodded. “So the man Seren nicked this from either stole it from Kiris within the last few months or commissioned it to be made. Either way, there’s a chance that the halflings will know where she is or might at least have some idea of what happened to her.”

  “How can we be sure this isn’t some sort of trap?” Dalan asked. “Overwood has been missing for four years. Might this be some forgery intended to lead us astray?”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Seren said. “Why would Marth bother with something like that? He had no way of knowing I’d steal the lens from him. The times we’ve run into him so far, he just tries to kill us. Something that contrived seems out of character.”

  “A good point. I am merely entertaining all possibilities,” Dalan said, dismissing his own argument with a wave of his hand. “Pardon my paranoid mind. Perhaps I’m just too wary, but we’ve found misleading clues before. Of course it isn’t as if we have any other leads. Even this one is of dubious usefulness. Any halfling in Khorvaire could have taught Kiris how to write this script. She could be in Xen’drik with a halfling manservant for all we know.”

  “Granted,” Zed answered, “but we can make a decent guess. There’s only one place I know of that boasts petrified dragon bone and halfling tribes in close vicinity. It’s a place called the Boneyard. We should start there.”

  “We?” Dalan asked. “I thought you loathed the idea of the Legacy falling into irresponsible hands.”

  “I guess that’s why I’m going,” Zed said.

  “I hope you’ve left nothing of value in Black Pit,” Dalan said. “We won’t be returning there.”

  “Nothing that matters,” Zed said.

  “Then it is settled,” Dalan said, clapping his hands together. “We’ll need Gerith to plot a course. Seren, please fetch the halfling.”

  Seren nodded and opened the door.

  “Oh, and Seren …” Dalan continued.

  She looked back at him.

  “After that, make sure Tristam is well,” Dalan said, sounding genuinely concerned. “If I know him, he will be in one of his moods and we shall need him alert and aware when we reach Cragwar.”

  “Aye,” Seren said, exiting the cabin.

  She walked out on the deck to find Pherris still at the helm. Gerith sat on the deck nearby, eating a small meal while his glidewing watched with intense interest.

  “Gerith,” Seren called out.

  “The Boneyard, I know,” Gerith said. “I was eavesdropping.” He threw the last bit of his food in the air; Blizzard snatched it faster than Seren could even see. The halfling stood, wiped his hands on his pants, and walked past her into Dalan’s cabin with a strangely morose expression.

  Seren walked toward the deck ladder, pausing only briefly to greet the captain. Pherris did not answer. His eyes were intent on the sky ahead as he struggled to control the wounded airship. Not wanting to distract him, she mumbled a quiet greeting and headed to the ladder.

  “Thank you, Seren,” Pherris said.

  Seren looked back at the captain in surprise.

  “The ship,” Pherris said. “Thank you for saving her.”

  “Captain, who is Aeven?” Seren asked impulsively. “I’ve heard you mention the name. Tristam and Gerith mentioned it too.”

  “Aeven?” Pherris asked with a chuckle. “She’s the only member of the crew you haven’t met. Don’t worry, Seren. She’s just shy.”

  Seren smiled, not sure how to react to the captain’s reply. She left him to his work and made her way below deck. Omax was meditating in the cargo bay again. She wondered which of the cabins the paladin was locked in. Seren continued to Tristam’s door and knocked lightly. There was no answer. She moved on to her own cabin, leaving him in peace.

  “Seren,” Tristam said, opening the door and peering out. “I’m sorry. I thought you might be Dalan.” He had changed out of his ruined and bloody clothing and was wearing a somewhat somber gray shirt.

  “No need to apologize,” she said.

  He looked back down the hall, beckoned to her, and stepped back inside. With a pensive frown, she followed him. He closed the door and sat at the desk. She sat at the edge of the bed, watching him curiously. The homunculus immediately leapt off the desk into her lap.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I have to tell you something, but you can’t tell Dalan,” Tristam said.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “I recognized that Cyran ship,” he said. He reached into his pocket and took out a small glass sphere. He tapped the side and whispered the words, “Kenshi Zhann.” The sphere immediately illuminated with swirling blue lights, displaying a model of a tiny airship.

  “That’s the ship that chased us,” Seren said, recognizing it.

  Tristam nodded. “I made this model fo
r Ashrem, but I never gave it to him,” he said. “It’s the Kenshi Zhann, the Seventh Moon. Dalan didn’t see her, but he would have recognized her too.”

  “Oh?” Seren asked.

  “She was Ashrem’s flagship.”

  “The ship he flew into Cyre?” Seren asked.

  “Yes,” Tristam said. “Ashrem flew her into Cyre just before the Day of Mourning. Orren Thardis flew his other ship, the Albena Tors, into Cyre after him. Neither ship was ever seen again.”

  “But now Moon is back,” Seren said, “and Kiris Overwood is still alive.”

  “What?” Tristam asked, surprised. “Kiris is alive?”

  “That’s what Zed thinks,” Seren said.

  “Strange,” Tristam said. “Zed should have recognized Moon.”

  “Maybe he did,” Seren said. “He avoided describing the ship to Dalan. Why would he do that?”

  Tristam didn’t answer for a long moment. He just looked at her, his eyes lost and afraid. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know who to trust, Dalan or Zed, maybe neither. But I trust you.”

  “Me?” she said, surprised. “I thought you said you couldn’t trust me.”

  “I say stupid things all the time,” Tristam said. “If you hold that against me, we’ll never get anywhere. The point is, I trust you now, and I want you to know what’s going on here.”

  She leaned closer to him to listen more intently. “Tell me about Moon, then.”

  “She was Ashrem’s oldest ship,” Tristam continued. “He commissioned her back when he still designed and sold weapons. The Cannith sometimes sold to both sides of the same conflict, so they weren’t always welcome when they showed up. With that in mind, Ashrem outfitted Moon as a warship, designed to survive on the harshest battlefields of the Five Kingdoms. If her weapons are still intact, what she unleashed on us back there was only a taste. They’ll come after us again, Seren. Karia Naille is faster, but we can’t run forever.”

  “What are you getting at, Tristam?” she asked.

  “You aren’t really a part of this,” he said. “I don’t mean that as an insult. Cragwar isn’t such a bad place. It’s much nicer than Wroat and safer than Black Pit. Stay there, Seren. Maybe Eraina will even help you find a safe place to start a new life.”