by Rich Wulf
Higher up the slope, Eraina helped Omax pull his trapped leg free. The warforged was annoyed but uninjured as he wrenched himself out of the bones. The dragon bones were hollow, like a bird’s, and Omax’s heavy tread had broken through the surface of one of the larger ones. The Boneyard was covered with layers upon layers of bone. Seren wondered how deep the remains went.
“Seren?” Omax called out, unable to find her amid the broken landscape.
“I’m all right,” she said, studying the steep, unstable slope. “I don’t think I can get back up to where you are.”
“We’ll come to you,” Eraina said, picking her way gingerly down the slope.
“Be careful,” Seren said.
The gigantic skulls of countless long-dead dragons stared silently down at her. Though it had been early morning when they had arrived, the valley was painted in a dusty half-light. She could no longer find the sun. The Boneyard radiated a sense of timelessness. “We have been here for ages,” the bones seemed to say, “We will be here when you are gone.”
There was something distinctly … wrong about the Boneyard. The shadows did not match the light as they should. The colors were not right. The patterns painted upon the stones twisted when Seren looked at them from the corner of her eye. Seren found it both disturbing and somehow familiar. She was an unwelcome intruder in a place where time stood still. She remembered Omax’s words; it was obvious why the halflings avoided this place. She retreated into the curve of a fallen jawbone and waited for her friends.
Omax led the way down to Seren, each step cautious and calculated. Eraina followed, spear clutched in both hands as she searched for any sign that the noise had attracted enemies.
Seren saw it first, a furtive movement in the darkness between two towering rib bones. Eraina and Omax did not notice. As they approached, Seren peered out just enough for them to see her. She silently waved them away. A brief look of confusion flickered across Eraina’s face, but Omax understood. The warforged marched directly past Seren’s hiding place. The paladin followed with an uncomfortable frown. Several seconds after they had moved on, the shadows moved again. Seren saw it more clearly as it moved closer, a young woman in tattered robes, darting through the jagged white forest. The woman didn’t offer a second glance in Seren’s direction, following Eraina and Omax instead. Seren guessed that she had been drawn by the earlier noise and was investigating the new arrivals but arrived too late to see Seren hide.
Seren crept out from behind the jawbone, falling into step behind the strange woman. Seren could see now that her robes were blue velvet, once obviously of fine quality, now torn and stained with the Boneyard’s bleached dust. Her dark hair hung long and unkempt about her shoulders, adding to her savage appearance. Many heavy pouches hung from her belt but she carried no obvious weapons. Seren caught the faint smell of sulfur and jasmine. Seren tucked her dagger carefully away. She moved to the center of the rough path, hands clearly visible and far from her body but ready to spring away instantly if she needed to.
“Kiris Overwood,” Seren said, loudly enough so that her friends ahead would hear.
The woman whirled, one hand reaching for her belt, eyes blazing with fear. She stopped when she saw Seren held no weapons, and realized that Eraina and Omax were now standing behind her.
“You aren’t Cyran,” she said, studying Seren’s face intently. A brief look of relief shone on her dirty face, only to be replaced by intense suspicion. “Who are you? How do you know me?”
“My name is Seren Morisse,” Seren said, keeping her voice calm and soothing. Kiris moved with the tense energy of a wild animal, as if, finding herself trapped, she would flee or attack at any moment. “I work for Dalan d’Cannith. We need your help.”
“Dalan d’Cannith,” Kiris said, spitting out the name. “Why am I not surprised?”
“What do you mean?” Seren asked.
The heavy thud of a large and heavy thing falling erupted behind Seren, scattering the bones.
“Khyber,” Kiris hissed. “Run!”
Seren looked back in time to see a second shadowy mass distend, like a raindrop, from the end of a twenty-foot claw. It fell somewhere behind the rumpled heaps of broken bone, landing with a thud. Another, third shape struck the ground somewhere to their left, in the darkness. Kiris rushed past them, scrambling over heaps of shattered bone without hesitation.
“What?” Omax said, following the wizard
Then a shrieking, gibbering screech filled the air. Seren screamed as the sound pressed into her mind, driving away all reason. A shapeless mass of flesh covered with fanged mouths and wide eyes launched from the bones and struck Omax in the chest, pinning the warforged to the ground. Another erupted from the path on the other side, lashing at Eraina with fleshy arms covered with countless biting mouths. The paladin parried the blows with her spear, moving to block its path to Seren. The thief knelt among the bones, laughing hysterically as the world melted and swirled before her eyes. In the distance, she saw Kiris unleash a bolt of arcane power into another thrashing beast and continue running without them.
“Seren, focus,” Eraina shouted, stabbing at the nearest creature with her spear.
Omax rolled to his feet, still struggling. The creature chewed hungrily at his chest and limbs. Unable to dislodge it, he instead positioned himself over a sharp bone outcropping and fell forward with all his weight. Something snapped noisily and the creature’s mad gibbering became a shriek of pain. Its limbs flailed violently, pushing the warforged away. Omax fell to one side, out of its grasp, leaving the thing impaled on the now fractured spike.
Seren’s hand found her dagger and clasped the hilt. Her world drew into focus again. She leapt to her feet, holding the weapon in one hand. The weapon would likely do little good against these things, but being armed once again lent her confidence.
“These are the same creatures we fought in Black Pit,” Omax said as another rose over a heap of bony debris.
“More are coming,” Kiris said as two more dripped from bony overhangs in the distance. “These are aberrations of Xoriat, gibbering creatures that corrupt the earth and spread madness to paralyze their prey. We cannot fight so many. Follow me if you can, but do not expect me to wait for you.”
The gibbering sounds became louder again. They pressed in like a wave, clawing at their minds, seeking to tear away reason. Seren’s eyes narrowed as she fought for focus. She saw another flash of magic far ahead. Kiris was abandoning them … but she was fighting her way toward something.
“Omax, grab Eraina’s hand,” Seren said, sheathing her dagger and digging through her pouches.
The warforged complied, though both he and the paladin looked at her with confusion. Seren drew out two of Gerith’s flares, broke the ends, tossed them to the ground, and grasped Omax’s other arm. The manic gibbering was broken by a loud shriek, a flash of light, and a choking cloud of smoke.
“Follow me,” Seren shouted, charging in the direction Kiris had fled. She hoped they had the presence of mind to follow, because she certainly wasn’t strong enough to drag Omax against his will.
They trudged along blindly after her, stumbling out of the smoke. The smell of burning, rotten flesh wafted over them, rising from one of the creatures Kiris had killed. Seren saw a patch of brown movement and ran after it, just in time to see the wizard disappear through a cleft in the bone wall.
Seren hesitated only a moment before darting through after her.
At first glance, the crack in the wall appeared to extend only a few feet. Kiris had disappeared without a trace. Seren reached out to find the inside wall was actually a dull white curtain, blending seamlessly with the bones. She pushed it aside and stepped into a small natural cavern. A rumpled blanket lay in one corner, surrounded by scattered books. A collection of oddly shaped bone fragments littered the center of the room. The remains of a small fire smoldered in the corner, smoke trickling through a crack in the roof. The chamber smelled of stale sweat and smoke. Kiris Ov
erwood stood in the far corner of the cavern, watching her suspiciously.
“Mind the wards,” she said, pointing at Seren’s feet with a slender copper wand. “It is safe for you to step over but break their border and the aberrations of Xoriat will swiftly come for us.”
The mad shrieking that filled the Boneyard punctuated her warning. Seren looked down and saw a row of shimmering silver runes spanning the threshold. She stepped over with care, as did Eraina. A loud crack sounded as Omax forced his thick bulk through the narrow opening and carefully followed them inside. Kiris darted past them, pulling the curtain over the opening again and offering them a suspicious look.
“You picked a fine time to come here,” she said. “Some days the Boneyard is quiet. This is not one of them.”
“Are you certain we are safe here?” Eraina asked.
“Quite certain,” Kiris said. “The wards both conceal our presence from the beasts and bar their entrance. They cannot even hear us, but I ask that you keep your voices down regardless. While my magic protects against the horrors from beyond this world, sometimes more mundane threats prowl this place. Fortune seekers. Grave robbers. Opportunists.” She looked at each of them sharply. “And tell your weapon to keep its distance.” She gestured at Omax with her wand.
Omax folded his heavy arms across his chest, neither backing away nor making any aggressive movement.
“Omax means no harm,” Seren said.
“So it claims, I am sure,” Kiris answered. “Be wary. I saw the damage those abominable things can do in the war, and I know this one well. Tristam was a fool to ever repair it.”
“On my honor as a Sentinel Marshal and a Spear of Boldrei, I vouch for the warforged,” Eraina said.
“A Sentinel Marshal working for Dalan d’Cannith?” Kiris said. “I thought you mercenaries were more selective.”
“There is no need to threaten Omax or insult me,” Eraina said, her voice cool.
“I mean no insult, I merely wish to gauge your motivations,” Kiris said. “As for threats, that was no threat; it was a warning. If you would ally yourselves with a warforged, you are already in danger. Those beasts have a disturbing propensity for violence and betrayal.”
“She is right,” Omax said. “Yet I assure you, Lady Overwood, I have set that path behind me. I serve Tristam Xain now.”
“Tristam?” Kiris asked, recognition flickering in her eyes. “He is here?”
“He is repairing our damaged airship,” Seren said.
Kiris’s angry scowl softened in confusion, but only for an instant. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “How did Dalan find me?”
“We found an enchanted hand lens that you created,” Seren said. “It was in the possession of a changeling named Marth. We know that it can read certain codes in Ashrem d’Cannith’s journals, but we don’t know how it works.”
Kiris’s eyes widened. “You took the lens from Marth?” she asked. “Is he still alive?”
“For now,” Seren said.
Kiris frowned. “So Dalan still seeks the Legacy,” she said. “I cannot help you, but neither will I offer you harm. You may remain here until the creatures have gone, but then you must leave and forget you saw me here.”
“Then while we wait, perhaps you could tell us what you know about this Marth person,” Eraina said. “He is responsible for the murder of Jamus Roland and likely Bishop Llaine Grove as well.”
“Llaine is dead?” Kiris said, looking up at Eraina with wide eyes. “Llaine’s self-righteousness and blind faith in those who supported the war was galling at times, but I can’t believe Marth would kill him.”
“You are gravely deluded, woman,” Eraina said.
“I saw Marth murder Jamus Roland,” Seren said. “He has been hunting us in Ashrem’s old airship, Moon.”
“You were aboard that ship on the Day of Mourning,” Eraina said. “How did you survive, and why did you allow the world to think you were dead?”
“Why should I care what the world thinks of me?” Kiris said in a hollow voice. “My life ended in every way that matters on the Day of Mourning. Ashrem is gone. My homeland is gone. My entire family perished. Together, Marth and I repaired Moon enough to limp out of Cyre. I have been here since we escaped, helping him with his work from afar.”
Eraina’s stance shifted. The change was slight, but Seren could see that the paladin now held her spear ready. Her eyes were angry, intent. “So you are his ally,” she said. “Who is he? Where is his home port? How did he gather his troops?”
“Marth is a visionary,” Kiris said after a long silence. “There is no other word for it. He is the sort that others naturally wish to follow. His followers are Cyran soldiers who were fortunate enough to be outside their homeland when Cyre was destroyed.” She closed her eyes, as if pained by the recollection. “He is a patriot and a hero, not a killer.”
“You are lying,” Eraina said. “You lie to us and to yourself. I hear it in your quavering voice. You’ve suspected what he truly is. What we’ve told you doesn’t surprise you at all, does it?”
“Marth is a good man,” Kiris protested, lowering her eyes. “Or he was, once. But you are right, Marshal. I have seen him change since the Day of Mourning, but were it not for him I would be dead or worse. The things we have seen, the horror that Cyre has become, have driven him to desperation. I know he has concealed things from me. His cause is noble, but I have seen the rage that burns inside him. Now, to hear that he might have had a part in these killings …”
“What is his plan?” Eraina demanded.
“He only wishes to finish Ashrem d’Cannith’s work,” Kiris said. “He wishes to complete the Legacy. He returns here from time to time, and I share what I have learned with him. He applies my findings to his work.”
“Why here?” Omax asked.
The wizard sighed. “What do you know of the Draconic Prophecy?” she asked.
Eraina removed her left glove and rolled up her sleeve, exposing the dragonmark on her forearm. The twisting pattern closely resembled the marks on the stones outside. “I know some,” the paladin said. “The Prophecy appears as a series of arcane symbols, like these. It manifests on the earth, the sky, and some say even the dragonmarks that we bear are part of it. The dragons created it as a guide to what is to come, and what has come to be. The writings often carry magical power.”
“Partially right,” Kiris said. “Though I do not believe the dragons truly created the Prophecy. I think they were merely the first to discover it and thus it bears their name. After all, if a dragon wishes to name something after itself, who are we to argue?”
“So where does it come from?” Seren asked.
“I do not know,” Kiris said. “Such questions cannot be answered. Who created the Sovereign Host? Does the Marshal’s inability to answer that question make Boldrei less worthy a goddess?”
“Leave my faith out of this,” Eraina warned.
“I meant no offense,” Kiris said. “I only mean that there is much about this world that none of us understand. We must take some things on faith as we search for answers, and the origin of the Prophecy is one of those things. We can rely only upon that which we know. The Prophecy is ancient. The Prophecy is powerful. The Prophecy—as far as I know—is never wrong.”
“So what do those marks outside say?” Seren asked.
“Many things,” Kiris said. “Most of what I have deciphered speaks of a great battle between dragonkind and the demons of Khyber. It says that the dragons would sever the thread that binds the worlds and rend the very essence of their enemies. That battle came to pass before the dawn of mankind. Now the bones and the Prophecy are all that remain.”
Eraina’s face darkened. “There is more you have not told us,” she said with grave certainty. “What does the Legacy have to do with this?”
“Ashrem,” Kiris said. “He first found this place many years ago. With help, he deciphered many of the writings outside. He learned how the dragons defeated the de
mons. They created an … anchor, if you will. An artifact that negates magic of all kinds. All arcane energies are forcibly and permanently canceled. All enchantments are destroyed. All gateways to other dimensions permanently closed. The tool the dragons forged to defeat the demons is what inspired the Legacy. Ashrem used the principles he learned here to create it. While Marth searches for Ashrem’s lost journals, I labor here to understand the Prophecy as Ashrem understood it. My skill at artifice is nothing compared to Marth or Ashrem, but I have always had a talent for deciphering language and codes. I have learned much.”
“And what would the Legacy do to creatures of magic?” Omax asked.
“See the results for yourself,” she said, gesturing at the bone samples on the floor. “Magic is a dragon’s lifeblood, and it was stripped from them. The other dragons left their brethren where they fell as a tribute to their sacrifice. The dragons who activated the original Legacy knew what would happen, but to ensure the future of our world they were willing to die.”
“The Legacy destroys all magic?” Seren asked.
“With how heavily the Five Nations rely on magic,” Eraina said, “a thing like that could throw entire cities into chaos.”
“It is not a weapon, it is a tool,” Kiris said. “If used improperly the potential for damage is great; I will not deny that. Why do you think we hide what we do? Marth intends to use the Legacy to tame the wild energies of the Mournland and restore the former grandeur that was our home. He wishes to restore Cyre.”
