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

by Rich Wulf

  “Thank you,” Kiris said in the halfling tongue.

  Koranth smiled faintly. “I know that all of you are concerned by our presence here,” he said. “Please, do not be. I assure you, we have your best interests at heart. The Ghost Talons have been retained by Baron Zorlan d’Cannith, who has taken a personal interest in your adventures. All of you will be treated as guests of the Ghost Talons until the Baron’s emissaries arrive to collect you.”

  “Politics,” Eraina said bitterly. “So that’s why your tribe was so interested in this place. I thought your chief just wanted his ring back? Or was that a lie too?”

  “A ring?” Koranth asked. “I remember hearing nothing about a ring. Perhaps Rossa misspoke. He is an old man. He says many strange things.”

  Koranth’s smug grin faded as he looked past them, to the west, his eyes narrowing in concern. Seren looked in the same direction. A faint red glow was visible on the far horizon. A plume of gray smoke curled into the night sky.

  “Pian, Maern,” he said, calling to two of the other hunters. “Wait here and guard our guests. The rest of you come with me. Something is happening in the village.”

  “It’s Marth,” Seren warned. “The one who shot down our ship. He’s attacking your tribe.”

  Kiris’s face was pale as she looked at the distant fire.

  “Then he will rue that he crossed the Ghost Talon tribe,” Koranth said.

  “We can help,” Omax said. “We have fought him before.”

  Koranth climbed onto his clawfoot with a grimace. “You cannot keep up with us, outsiders. This is not your fight. The Ghost Talons stand and fall on their own.”

  He kicked his mount into stride and loped off across the plains, three of his hunters following in formation behind him. The other two remained behind with nervous expressions, watching as their brethren departed.

  “We should go, Maern,” one of the halflings said, his words translated by Tristam’s bracelet. “Our families are down there.”

  “We were told to remain,” the other said, though his reply held no conviction. His eyes were on the fire as well, and they were filled with fear. Seren felt as angry and helpless as they did. She wanted to help, or at least convince them to go to their tribe, but what could she say? And then she remembered.

  “Kapen hara,” she said to the hunters. “Family before all else.”

  They both turned to her, eyes wide, and then looked at each other. Maern bowed his head shamefully. Pian looked back at her with a steady, building resolve. He clapped his comrade on the shoulder and ran to his steed. Maern paused to offer a mumbled thanks and hopped on his steed as well. Together, the two rode off across the plains to defend their village.

  Eraina, Omax, Kiris, and Seren stood in the now-abandoned camp, watching as the hunters galloped off across the plains. None said a word for a long moment. They were free now. They could easily escape to Karia Naille, assuming Marth had not found it. Tristam might be finished with the repairs. If Gerith had arrived, they might already be preparing to take off.

  “Do what you must,” Eraina said, hefting her spear as she stared at the distant fire. “I plan to fight. Keep up with me if you can.”

  The paladin charged off across the plains, not waiting for the others. Omax fell into step behind her. Seren stopped only long enough to look back at Kiris, still sitting beside the fire. If she left the wizard behind, she left behind the first real chance to understand what Tristam and the others had been seeking, and perhaps let an enemy escape to threaten them another day. But as she watched the silhouettes of her friends and the halfling hunters charging to an uncertain fate, she remembered the night that Jamus Roland died. If Tristam and Omax had not stood beside her, she might have died as well. Could she let the Ghost Talons face Marth alone? Could she abandon Dalan to him?

  There was really no choice at all.

  Tristam peered up over the side of the ship’s railing, removing his spectacles with an exhausted grin. “I think I have it, Aeven,” Tristam said. “Try it now.”

  The dryad’s eyes remained closed. Her hands were still clasped in the ball of seething blue fire. Slowly, she extended her fingers. The fire spilled out to each side, extending in two snaking tendrils. They extended around the sides of the ship and met at the newly repaired keel strut beneath. The flame wavered for several seconds, then resolved itself into a steadily burning ring.

  Aeven slowly opened her translucent green eyes. She gazed into the fire in wonder. Her childlike face broke into a pleased smile. “Yes, my friend,” she whispered to the elemental. “You can stay for a while longer. The tinker has fixed it so we can remain together.” She dropped lightly from the upper arm of the ship and kissed Tristam lightly on the lips. “The ship says thank you.”

  Tristam blinked in surprise. Aeven was already gone, having flitted away to sit on the rail near her figurehead. The young artificer could not help but smile. He put his spectacles back on, dropped down from the rope ladder, and stood back to admire his work. Karia Naille had been hoisted on a hastily constructed scaffolding. The ship was not as pretty as she once was. Chunks of the hull were missing and the keel arm was obviously an improvised replacement, but it would do. She was alive again.

  “Excellent work, Xain,” Zed Arthen said, limping up beside Tristam. The inquisitive had fashioned a crutch out of the halfling lumber and still favored his left leg.

  “I couldn’t have done it if Aeven hadn’t held the elemental here,” Tristam said with a sigh. “And if Pherris wasn’t such a skilled pilot, the damage would have been a lot worse. We still need to get her to a proper shipwright. She might not even hold together that long.”

  “I’m not a man who commonly distributes praise, Xain,” Zed said, giving Tristam a pointed look. “Best learn to recognize it, or I won’t bother next time. I’ve walked away from more than one airship crash in my time. This the first time I’ve seen the ship get back up. Ash himself couldn’t have done a finer job.” Zed looked furtively around the canyon. “Especially under the circumstances.”

  A dozen halfling laborers sat in a circle around a small campfire, laughing and chatting as they prepared their evening meal. The trio of threehorns that had hoisted the airship onto its scaffolding browsed nearby, searching the canyon for sparse foliage.

  “How many times is it now, Zed?” Tristam asked quietly.

  “Three times,” Zed said. “Three times I’ve caught those halflings trying to sabotage the repairs. They don’t know that I know, but I’m sure they’re wondering why the scaffolding didn’t fall down when it was supposed to.”

  “Why are they doing it?” Tristam asked. “Do you think they’re working for Marth?”

  “Doubtful,” Zed said. “If that were the case they would probably just kill us, or sabotage the ship so it crashed after takeoff and kill us.” Zed looked worried. “Are you sure they didn’t do that?”

  “No,” Tristam said confidently. “The ship is fine. Aeven would know if it had been harmed.”

  Zed nodded. “Then they’re just trying to delay us,” the inquisitive said. “They want to keep us here as long as possible.”

  “Why?” Tristam asked.

  “Good question,” Zed said. “Toughest part of being an inquisitive is recognizing when not to obsess over the wrong questions. I’m not as interested in learning what their game is as I am in removing us from it.”

  Zed continued staring at the halflings for a long moment, searching for any clue as to their motives. He gave Tristam a questioning look when he realized the artificer was studying him in turn.

  “What?” he said.

  “Why didn’t you want me to tell Dalan that I recognized Moon the first time I saw her?” Tristam asked.

  “It would have made things prematurely complicated,” Zed answered, looking away again. “Dalan didn’t see Moon until she attacked us over the plains. Now think about what he’s done since then. Why do you think he’s spent all his time away from here in Rossa’s camp, while
you fix the ship? Now that he knows that you know Marth is connected to Ashrem, he’s been avoiding you.”

  “Why?” Tristam asked.

  Zed looked at Tristam again, his gray eyes narrowing. “Listen, Tristam. Your employment with Dalan is based upon several important assumptions. There are things that you’re better off not knowing, and things that he’s better off not knowing that you know. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “For a person dedicated to solving mysteries, you seem pretty intent on concealing the truth, Arthen,” Tristam said. “What are you afraid I’ll find out?”

  “I could answer that question, but I think you’ll regret it,” Zed said.

  “Tell me,” Tristam said. “I need to know what’s going on here. I need to know how Marth is connected to Ashrem.”

  “I can’t really answer that,” Zed said. “But I know how he’s connected to Dalan.”

  “Dalan?” Tristam asked, surprised.

  “Zed sighed. “Even back when Ash was alive, Dalan suspected that his uncle was onto some sort of big research. He was always sniffing around, trying to figure out what it was. After Ashrem disappeared, Dalan redoubled his efforts. He figured Ashrem’s lost research would be his ticket to the respect he always deserved. Of course, the old man didn’t trust his nephew enough to leave him any of his journals. Dalan was a war profiteer, after all, and Ashrem was a pacifist. So Dalan turned to me for help. I owed Dalan a few big favors from back in the war, so I agreed.”

  “You knew Dalan during the war?” Tristam asked. “Does that have something to do with you being a knight?”

  “That happens to be none of your business,” Zed said. “Anyway, he hired me to find out who had inherited Ashrem’s journals. Seemed a pretty straightforward job. Then some of the journals started disappearing. Then people who owned them started disappearing. I looked into it, and found out that Dalan had been meeting with displaced Cyran soldiers in some of Wroat’s shadier inns. I followed them one night after they left; the soldiers boarded Moon in the wilderness outside Wroat.”

  Tristam’s frown deepened. “Dalan was working with Marth?” he asked.

  Zed nodded. “For a while. I could tell that he didn’t like it, though. I think he needed Marth’s knowledge of artifice—and that’s why he brought you on, Tristam. He needed a skilled, trustworthy artificer so that he could eventually sever his association with Marth.”

  Tristam absorbed the information.

  “When Bishop Grove was murdered, that was the last straw,” Zed said. “Dalan stopped meeting with Marth’s agents, but by that time they didn’t really need him anymore. Marth knew much more about the Legacy than Dalan did. I was disgusted by the entire affair, but I couldn’t’ expose Dalan. I owe him too much. So I made up a lame excuse to leave and went to live in Black Pit. I didn’t want to be involved anymore.”

  Tristam frowned. “All this time I thought you just abandoned us,” he said. “I’m sorry, Zed.”

  “Eh, you didn’t trust me,” Zed said with a shrug. “Nothing new to me. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t really care what people think of me. No offense.”

  “So why did you come back to help us?” Tristam asked.

  “Because now Dalan’s trying to fix what he did,” Zed said. “He knows how dangerous the Legacy is. I believe he really does want to stop Marth from unlocking its secrets and see that it’s used responsibly. I didn’t buy it at first, and that’s why I warned you away from him, but I think he’s sincere. I’d like to help him, if I can. I’m a big admirer of redemption. The only parts that still confuse me are how Dalan ever came into contact with Marth in the first place and how Marth commandeered Kenshi Zhann. Oh, and what in Khyber he’s planning to do, of course.”

  “It worries me more that Marth keeps finding us everywhere we go,” Tristam said. “Could Dalan still be working with him?”

  “Doubtful,” Zed said. “Marth was trying to kill us when he shot us down. My theory is that he has some other way of finding us that has nothing to do with Dalan … or anyone else that’s been on board Karia Naille.”

  A shrill whistle came from the ship’s deck above. Captain Pherris stood at the rail, pointing at the eastern sky with a grim expression. Tristam followed the gesture. At first he saw nothing, so he removed his spectacles. There was a subtle blur of movement in the sky. As it flew closer, it became more recognizable as a familiar glidewing bearing a tiny rider.

  “The halfling came back alone?” Zed said, sounding worried. “Best see what’s going on, Xain. I’ll stay down here and make sure our hosts don’t become too curious.”

  Tristam was already climbing back aboard the ship to wait by Blizzard’s perch. With a swoop of leathery wings, the glidewing landed on the ship. The creature’s rounded chest heaved with exhaustion. Gerith was nearly unconscious from his frenzied flight. He fell out of the saddle and stumbled toward Tristam. He dropped a heavy bag at the artificer’s feet and then collapsed on the deck.

  “From Seren,” Gerith said, struggling to catch his breath. “Hide it before the Ghost Talons see.”

  “Where are the others?” Pherris asked.

  Gerith explained as much as he could about how the others found Kiris and then were tracked by Rossa’s hunters. Tristam felt a wild surge of emotions. He exulted that the clues he had sought for so long might be contained in the books and scrolls Gerith had brought, but he was terrified that Seren and Omax might be in danger.

  “What do we do?” Gerith said, looking to Pherris.

  “You get to your cabin and get some rest,” Pherris ordered. “You’re even more useless than normal when you’re half dead.”

  “Aye, captain,” Gerith said with a tired laugh.

  “Meantime, we wait,” Pherris continued. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Seren and the others escape before Rossa’s hunters can get them back to his village. If they do, we’ll need Seren’s help to sneak in and rescue Dalan.”

  Gerith gave a lazy salute and limped away to fall below decks and crawl to his cabin.

  “Who says we need to rescue Dalan?” Tristam asked once the halfling was gone.

  Pherris’s fluffy brows lifted in surprise. “Where in Khyber did that come from?” he asked. “Pherris Gerriman does not leave his crew behind.”

  “Never mind,” Tristam said. “I just learned some unsettling truths about Dalan.”

  “I see,” Pherris said. “So I suppose the next time you’re trapped on the roof of a building that you and your metal cohort have set aflame, I should pause to weigh the worth of your eternal soul before I come and rescue you?”

  Tristam said nothing.

  “Right, then,” Pherris snapped. “I’ll just pretend that you never said what you just said and we shall leave it at that, Master Xain.” The captain turned smartly and marched off across the deck.

  Aeven knelt nearby, hands folded demurely in her lap. She looked at Tristam with wide green eyes. “The ship is confused,” she said. “Karia Naille is glad to see her sister again, but wants to know why the Kenshi Zhann wounded her so badly.”

  “I wish I knew, Aeven,” Tristam said, shrugging helplessly at the dryad. He picked up the heavy sack of books in one hand and returned to his cabin.

  For the next several hours he pored through Kiris Overwood’s writings. They were notes on the Boneyard, quotes from the Draconic Prophecy, and copious sketches of magical constructions that Tristam could only assume were part of the Legacy. Unlike Ashrem’s own journals, these weren’t ciphered. It made little difference. Tristam retained none of it. The words were clear enough, but his mind was too distracted. Each time he sought to understand, his thoughts would trail inevitably to Marth, wondering at his connection to Ashrem, or to Dalan. He wondered how much the guildmaster had lied to him. He thought of Seren, worrying that she might have come to harm.

  The sounds of the halfling laborers shouting at one another outside finally gave him the excuse to put aside the books and climb above deck.

  “Master
Xain, I need a word with you!” Pherris shouted just as Tristam emerged above deck.

  He immediately noticed that the Ghost Talon halflings were in a hurry to leave. Some were rapidly packing their remaining supplies onto their mounts. Others were already running in the direction of their village on foot, holding weapons. Gerith and Zed stood at the edge of the deck, watching the halflings silently. Pherris was calibrating the ship’s controls, ignoring the spectacle. Aeven sat cross-legged atop her figurehead, watching them all attentively.

  “Master Xain, I need your expertise,” Pherris said, not looking up from his work.

  “What’s going on?” Tristam asked.

  “A scout just arrived,” Gerith said, looking at Tristam bleakly. “The Kenshi Zhann is attacking Ghost Talon village.”

  “Khyber,” Tristam swore.

  “Dalan is still there,” Zed said, “and possibly the others as well.”

  “Master Xain, I’ve a mind to fly to that village and rescue our friends,” Pherris said. The gnome captain marched toward Tristam, folding his arms behind his back as he paced across the deck. “I wonder if this ship is in any condition to survive such an adventure. What is your professional opinion?”

  “She’ll hold together,” Tristam said. “As long as we don’t push her too hard or take any more direct hits. We won’t survive another battle with Moon.”

  “Thank you, Master Xain,” Pherris said pertly. “Aeven, can you provide some sort of distraction when we reach the village?”

  “I have called the storm,” Aeven said in her soft, musical voice. “It will fight beside us.” Overhead, the sky was already beginning to darken.

  “Then let’s see about our missing crewmates,” Pherris said, stepping up to the ship’s controls. “All hands, prepare for takeoff.”

  The Ghost Talon encampment was engulfed in flame. Dozens of halflings ran past Seren as she approached the village, mostly fleeing on foot. Some carried bundles of possessions. Others carried injured friends or relatives. The occasional threehorn trundled past with a bleating cry. Many of the creatures had no riders, having broken free and stampeded away from the doomed settlement.