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

by Rich Wulf

  Seren grunted noncommittally and headed below deck. Though Eraina’s release piqued her curiosity, her real motivation was to get away from Zed. The inquisitive made her uneasy since he had attacked Eraina. She hadn’t really put much stock in Tristam’s low opinion of the man until that moment. Now she wasn’t sure what he would do next. She noticed Eraina was now in the cargo hold, moving the scattered crates into neatly organized stacks. Her polished armor and weapons were set carefully aside in the corner. She wore leather breeches and a sleeveless white blouse that revealed her dragonmark, an exotic pattern of swirling blue and green lines that stretched from her left hand halfway up her bicep. Eraina had obviously been at work for some time, for her hair and clothes were damp from labor. Overall, she looked more like a Wroat dockworker than a Spear of Boldrei.

  “Can you give me a hand, Seren?” she asked, pushing a dark lock of hair from her eyes.

  “What are you doing?” Seren asked, moving to take up the other side of a heavy box of dried carrots.

  “Cleaning up the hold,” she said. “I can’t understand the halfling’s method of organization.”

  “I don’t think he has a method,” Seren said, helping her haul the box up on top of another. “I think he likes it random, so that what he finds to make for dinner surprises him as much as the rest of us.”

  Eraina chuckled as she moved to pick up another box. “That may be fine for him, but not for me,” she said. “I like to know where everything is and why it’s there.”

  “Then you’re in strange company,” Seren said under her breath.

  Eraina looked at her seriously. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

  “Dalan imprisoned you here,” Seren said. “Now you’re helping him?”

  “Dalan apologized for his behavior and drew a promise from me,” Eraina said. “I swore to aid him in his quest in return for his promise that he would help me bring Marth to justice and that he would use the Legacy only for honorable ends.”

  “And you believed him?” Seren asked, astonished mostly by the answer but also by the accuracy of Zed’s guess.

  “No,” Eraina answered. “I believed in you.”

  Seren looked at Eraina in utter confusion.

  “Tell me, Seren,” Eraina said. “What do you have faith in?”

  “What do you mean?” Seren asked. “I pray to Kol Korran a little, but I picked that up from Jamus. My parents prayed to the entire Host, but I never did.”

  “Why not?” Eraina asked. “The gods exist to care for us, just as we exist to serve them.”

  “I figured that they were busy,” Seren said. “I’m just one person. They must have better things to do. Prayer seems too much like begging.”

  “And Kol Korran?” Eraina asked. “Why is he the exception?”

  “He’s the god of thieves, so I’m sort of his job, right?” Seren said with a small smile. “I pray to him out of habit. I don’t place a lot of faith in things I can’t see. I guess that sounds sort of blasphemous to a paladin.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Eraina murmured. “A paladin does not believe blindly, for if we did, our faith would be without worth. A paladin does not hurl herself into battle and beg Boldrei for salvation. A champion who cannot succeed without her favor is no champion at all. A paladin does not close her eyes to the world and wait for Boldrei’s voice to fill the emptiness. We see the will of the goddess in all things, but mostly through people. I have faith in the goodness of mankind. Though I may seem cynical, and I have been disappointed frequently, I can assure you that I see miracles every day. When I saw you had returned to Karia Naille, I knew Boldrei had spoken.”

  Seren continued to stare at Eraina in puzzled silence.

  “Jamus Roland looked upon you as his daughter, Seren,” Eraina said. “He wanted to take you from Wroat, to give you a better life. That was part of his deal with me. My father had his flaws and often failed, but he never ceased to try to make the world a better place. Any person in whom he would place such faith is a person in whom I will believe in as well. You saw something worthy in this crew, something that made you return. I have faith in you, Seren, and that is why I remain.”

  “No,” Seren said. “You remain because Zed Arthen knocked you unconscious.”

  Eraina laughed quietly and cast a guarded look about them. When she spoke again, it was in a whisper. “What a pitiful Sentinel Marshal I would be if I let one man defeat me in such a clumsy manner. Be honest, Seren, did you not think it a bit foolish of me to threaten Dalan to his face, on his own ship, while so heavily outnumbered. I did not even call upon my dragonmark to protect me. Strange?”

  “I did think it strange,” Seren admitted.

  Eraina smiled enigmatically. “And now I am here,” she said.

  “But you said …” Seren began.

  “I said Dalan would not escape me.” Eraina finished the sentence for her. “And he has not. I said I would find allies.” The paladin placed a hand on Seren’s shoulder. “And I have. Honesty in all things. I stand by you, Seren, and as long as Dalan keeps his word I stand by him as well.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Seren asked.

  “Then I hope you will stand by me,” Eraina said, her voice taking a dangerous edge. “For your own good as well as mine.”

  Seren nodded dumbly.

  Eraina looked satisfied and returned to sorting crates. She chatted idly with Seren as they worked, asking her mostly about her time in Wroat. The paladin was particularly interested in stories of her father. She often interrupted Seren in midstream when she attempted to embellish the tales or gloss over his shadier accomplishments. Eraina had an unerring sense for falsehood that seemed more a natural talent than any form of magic. She wished only to hear the truth about her father’s life, as much as Seren would tell her. She accepted all of it, good and bad, with the same sad smile.

  Omax entered the hold after they had been working and talking for nearly an hour. The warforged watched them only briefly before joining in their labor. The work went much more quickly after that, with Omax effortlessly lifting crates the two of them could barely budge together. Gerith entered much later, greeting them with a shriek when he discovered his comfortable chaos had become regimented, efficient order. He gave Eraina a scathing glare, whimpered at Seren like a hurt child, and stalked out of the hold with a sack of potatoes over one shoulder. Eraina and Seren looked at each other in silence for several seconds, then burst into laughter. Omax watched them thoughtfully for several moments, then laughed as well.

  With the job complete, Seren excused herself and headed back above deck. She leaned out over the rail as far as she dared, letting the unimpeded wind wash over her shoulders and cool her after the hard work. She noticed Zed still sitting on his barrel. He stared off into the distance blankly, watching the land speed past as smoke drifted idly from his pipe.

  He looked at her with a scowl. “More questions?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “No questions.”

  “Good,” Zed said, looking back out at the Thrane landscape. “Cause I’m in no mood.”

  Seren continued to look out at the countryside in silence. The sun set behind them, casting the land in a blanket of darkness disturbed only by the light of a rare farmhouse or village. Zed climbed down off his barrel, drawing a look from Seren.

  “Because this was my home,” he said, answering her unasked question with a strangely grateful smile. “Home is always a part of you, no matter what else changes. I wanted to see it.” Without another word, Zed Arthen returned to his cabin.

  The next several days passed fairly uneventfully. One morning she found Gerith and Pherris looking at a pile of large maps as they plotted their course. Gerith traced a thin line across Karrnath with his compass and looked at the captain with a frown. The course they had plotted was an exaggerated curve, cutting north across the Khorvaire continent and then south again toward the eastern edge of the Talenta Plains.

  “Still not sure we shouldn’t
have gone south,” Gerith commented. “Would have been quicker than cutting through Thrane and Karrnath, and we could have put into port in Zilargo.”

  “Whereupon my countrymen would have asked no end of questions that Master d’Cannith would have found most uncomfortable,” Pherris said. “After that our mission would be advertised on the front page of The Korranberg Chronicle, assuming we survive to see a copy after flying over hobgoblin and Valenar territories unannounced.”

  “Yeah,” Gerith said eagerly. “The interesting way.” His little round face drooped when he saw that the Captain did not share his excitement.

  Seren studied the map between them. She had never seen a map of the entire continent before, and wondered vaguely why they hadn’t merely flown in a straight line. She realized the truth a moment before her eyes found the name of the country to the southeast of them. She looked up quickly in that direction.

  That nation was Cyre.

  It was the first time Seren had ever seen the Mournland. Even from here, she could see churning white clouds boiling over the land. Life itself withdrew from the borders of Cyre. Even beyond the impenetrable mists that marked the Mournland, the ground was bare, vegetation shriveled. The shimmering clouds moved with a peculiar, pulsating rhythm. It was hypnotic and oddly beautiful in its way. A cold sensation spread through Seren as she stared at the white mist. She found it difficult to look away, but something brushed gently against her cheek, breaking the spell. When she looked, there were only Gerith and Pherris, still busy arguing about the ship’s course.

  They had been airborne for nearly a week and a half when the drab Karrnathi landscape gave way to an endless golden plain. The first morning over the Talenta Plains, Seren awoke and looked over the rail to see a herd of enormous reptilian creatures marching across the plains. Each was easily three times the size of a horse, with thick heads capped with a cropped thorny crest. Their hides were brilliant green, marked with orange stripes. They moved with a ponderous, steady pace, holding their thick tails above the ground for balance. Seren watched them for several minutes in quiet awe before she realized she was being watched herself. She looked to her left and saw Gerith nearby. His tiny chest was puffed out, and his face was flushed.

  “Threehorns,” he said, pointing to the herd. “My brother leads a threehorn cavalry team. Aren’t they incredible animals?”

  “They look a little big for a halfling,” Seren said.

  “Of course,” he answered. “That’s why we ride them in teams. What do you think of the Plains?” He watched Seren, waiting for her reaction.

  “It’s beautiful, Gerith,” she said, looking back out at the land.

  “No place in Eberron like this,” he answered. His voice was choked with pride, as if he had crafted the land with his own hands.

  “Will we see your home while we’re here?”

  “Oh, no,” Gerith said very quickly. “Not yet. I’m not ready.” He met her puzzled look with a wicked grin. “There’s a saying among the halflings. ‘Kapen hara.’ It means ‘family before all else,’ and that’s what brought me to this crew. My grandfather is the greatest storyteller in all the Plains, but he’s too old to go out and gather stories himself anymore. I promised him that the next time we met I’d have a tale that put all his to shame. I’ve been wandering the world, collecting stories, but I haven’t found a better one yet.” He sighed deeply. “I’ve more or less resigned myself to a simple truth.”

  “And what’s that?” she asked.

  “Stories are like baking,” he said. “A fresh pie is the best pie. So if I can’t find a better story, then I’ll just have to live through one.” He chuckled. “I think I’m on the right track. Karia Naille has always been a magnet for trouble. You’ll help, of course. A winsome damsel in distress always adds a bit of spice.”

  “Damsel in distress,” she said dryly. “I thought I was the hero.”

  “No, obviously I’m the hero,” Gerith said, “but I can be flexible.”

  “Thanks,” she said dryly.

  “Quite welcome,” he said. He looked down at the plains again, a beatific smile spreading across his childlike features. “I think you’ll like it here, Seren. I hope we’re in no hurry to leave. Just be careful around the locals.”

  “Careful?” she said.

  “The halflings are passionate people,” he answered. “Their love of beauty knows no bounds. Some of them can be a little rude. They haven’t learned any manners, especially around pretty girls like yourself.”

  “I’m not a halfling,” she said.

  “Not necessarily a disadvantage,” he answered with a wink. “Eliminates certain parental responsibilities, if you catch my meaning.”

  Seren smirked at him, holding back a laugh. “I’ll be careful,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, Seren,” Gerith said. “If all else fails, I’ll protect you from those terrible lechers. I’ll tell them we’re married.” He reached up and patted her bottom firmly, then swiftly leapt over the rail before she could react. Blizzard soared off into the clouds a moment later, leaving the mischievous halfling’s laughter behind.

  “A whole nation of Snowshales,” the captain said in a rueful voice. “I think I’d rather go back to Black Pit.”

  As the ship continued her flight, the landscape of the Talenta Plains only awed her more and more. While what she had seen of Breland, Thrane, and Karrnath had certainly impressed her, the wild beauty of Talenta was inspiring. Seren often found herself drawing away from her duties on the ship just to look out at the landscape, and when Pherris snapped at her to get back to work, there was no real spirit in it. The captain mostly let the ship do the flying and enjoyed the scenery as well, occasionally dozing off in his seat as he stared at the peaceful plains.

  She noticed that Tristam had emerged on deck again for the first time since leaving Cragwar. His clothes were stained with soot and chemicals, and he exchanged a nervous smile with Seren as he took a deep breath of fresh air. She began to cross the deck to talk to him when Blizzard dove out of the clouds behind them, flapping toward the ship at a frenzied pace. The glidewing did not slow its approach, and as it drew closer she saw Gerith slumped in the harness on its back. Tristam followed her startled gaze and immediately went pale.

  “All hands on deck!” Tristam screamed, startling Pherris from his nap.

  Seren and Tristam dove aside just as Blizzard crashed heavily into the deck. The glidewing shrieked in pain and collapsed. Gerith’s body hung limp, still secured in the glidewing’s harness. Tristam reached for the straps holding Gerith, but Blizzard snapped menacingly at his hand. Tristam backed away quickly, and Eraina took his place. Blizzard regarded the paladin with a suspicious eye but did nothing to prevent her releasing its master from his harness.

  “He’s alive, just stunned,” she said, laying Gerith on the deck.

  “What happened?” Seren asked.

  The glidewing shrieked uncomfortably and shifted its position, one wing snapping open to reveal a smoking wound on its leathery flesh. Tristam’s face went pale when he saw the burn.

  “Lightning,” Dalan said, looking at the creature with a deadpan expression. “Captain Pherris?”

  “I know,” the gnome said, busily working the controls. Seren felt the airship accelerate. The blue elemental fire now glowed.

  “Damn, too late,” Dalan swore, looking out behind them.

  Seren looked back as well in time to see a massive shadow emerge from the clouds behind them. It resolved into the sleek, sinister hull of Kenshi Zhann, now bearing down on them with methodical, inevitable speed. A bolt of white electricity fired from its bow, missing Karia Naille by several yards.

  “A warning shot,” Dalan said.

  “They want us to land,” Pherris said grimly. “Awaiting your command, Master d’Cannith.”

  “We can’t outrun them, Dalan,” Tristam said.

  “I thought our ship was faster than theirs,” Seren said.

  “Only over short distances,�
�� Tristam said. “They’ll catch up eventually, and on the plains there’s nowhere to hide.”

  “There’s always somewhere to hide,” Dalan said. “To Khyber with surrender. Get us out of here, Captain.”

  Pherris nodded and leaned into the controls. The ship lurched forward with sudden acceleration.

  “Shouldn’t we return fire?” Eraina shouted.

  Omax emerged above the deck, carrying several crossbows and quivers full of bolts. He offered one of the weapons to Eraina.

  “Karia Naille has no built-in weapons,” Omax said. “We must defend ourselves.”

  “Better yet, wake up the halfling,” Zed said. “If anyone knows a place where we can hide an airship in Talenta, it’s him.”

  Eraina nodded, bowing her head in prayer over Gerith’s prone body. Omax stepped over her, handing out weapons to the others. Seren weighed her crossbow uncertainly. She had never wielded one before. She looked up to find Zed loading his own weapon, but conspicuously holding it out so she could see how it was done. He gave her a sidelong look, waiting for her to load her own.

  When she fumbled with the bolt, he loosed his bolt over the side and reloaded, showing her how to do it again. He never offered his advice or asked if she wanted help. He only showed her the way.

  “Save your ammunition, Master Arthen,” Dalan chided, hefting his own weapon.

  “It just went off, Dalan,” Zed said, grinning at Seren.

  Moon had drawn closer now, and another bolt of searing lightning exploded from its bow. This time it struck Karia Naille squarely in the hull. The ship shuddered violently, throwing Seren to her knees. The ship was so close now Seren could feel the warmth of the elemental fire that held it aloft. A peal of thunder echoed through the sky, and the clouds began to darken.

  “Storm coming fast,” Zed said. “Magic?”

  “Magic,” Tristam said. “But not theirs.”

  “Aeven,” Pherris shouted with a triumphant cackle.

  Gerith sat up with a start, gasping as Eraina’s blessing roused him from unconsciousness. He twisted and struggled frantically, barking incomprehensibly in his native language. Eraina clasped one arm around the scout’s shoulders in an effort to calm him, but Gerith only relaxed when he saw Blizzard’s head poking out from its hiding place behind a stack of barrels. The creature gave an annoyed squawk and returned to licking his wounds. Gerith laughed in relief when he saw his pet was alive.