by Wulf, Rich
Above them, the storm erupted. Rain scoured the stone walls of Fort Ash. Lightning forked across the sky. Thunder exploded with a deafening report. Tristam drew his wand from his coat and pointed it at the gates.
When Shaimin realized what the artificer was about, a wicked grin spread across his fine features. He wouldn’t have expected such a thing from Xain. But for several moments, Tristam hesitated, as if uncertain if he could go through with it. Finally, a bolt of white lightning erupted from the wand, sizzling through the air and shattering the Cyran crest. Cries of alarm erupted within the fortress, but they were quickly drowned out by the sudden chorus of vengeful shrieks and tormented moans from the forest. Shaimin looked over the wall into the forest. Dozens of shambling and ghostly creatures lurched toward Fort Ash.
“Tristam, what have you done?” Shaimin asked, bemused.
“Those undead are compelled to haunt these ruins,” Tristam said. “Marth forced them out with his magic. Now that magic is gone, so they’re going back where they belong.”
“And when they find the living have taken up residence in their haunt, they’ll react most violently,” Shaimin said. “And you called me a monster? You’re a surprisingly bloodthirsty lad, Master Xain.”
The guards on the walls had drawn bows and were loosing randomly into the forest. None of them seemed to realize the lightning that struck the gates had not come from the sky. Down in the courtyard, the fort’s gates quickly ground closed. Undaunted, many of the attackers began to scale the walls, ragged claws finding easy purchase in the stone.
A pack of ghouls huddled around the gates suddenly parted at the arrival of a spectral figure. The ghost had the thin face and long, slender ears of a half-elf. It wore the flowing grey robes of a priest, embroidered with Draconic symbols. When the ghost arrived, the other undead ceased their actions and moved out of its path. It passed effortlessly through the gates. A few moments later, the gates ground slowly open and the undead flooded into Fort Ash.
“We can’t wait any longer,” Tristam said. He took the magical flare from his pocket and fired it into the air, tracing an arcing plume of sparkling green smoke through the sky above Fort Ash.
The artificer hurried down the steps into the courtyard. All around them was chaos as the Cyrans fought the undead. A pack of ghouls scuttled hungrily toward them, but Tristam scattered them with a blast of magic. A pair of confused guards stood at the airship’s gangplank, uncertain whether to stay and fight or flee aboard the vessel. Omax charged at them before they could ready their weapons, seizing one guard by the belt and hurling him into his partner, sending both flying off the ramp in a tangle. They charged onto the ship to find several soldiers on the deck already in combat. A half dozen of the undead had scaled the hull and were invading the ship. One guard opened his mouth to cry out as they boarded, but Shaimin silenced him with a swift knife to the throat.
“This way,” Tristam said, pushing open a hatch and descending below deck. “We have to hurry before—”
A lurching sensation passed through the Seventh Moon. Searing red flame ignited the air, surrounding the ship’s hull in a perfect circle. Marth’s warship slowly heaved herself into the sky.
They were trapped.
“Khyber,” Shaimin swore under his breath. He should have run when he had the chance.
EIGHTEEN
In his lifetime, Zed Arthen had seen his share of battles. Many brushes with death numbered in his memory. He’d had his share of battle scars from close scrapes. Even during his time as a champion of the Silver Flame, when his god had protected him from the adverse affects of fear, he had sometimes been afraid he would not live to see another day.
At no time in his entire life, however, could he recall being more terrified than at this moment. He knew part of that he couldn’t help. Dragons, by their very nature, radiated magical fear. Even if you didn’t want to be afraid, you couldn’t help but be afraid. His training as a knight had shown him how to identify that sort of fear, and he definitely felt that now. It felt somewhat redundant, though. Facing down a beast hewn from tons of muscle, scales harder than steel, and fangs that could slice through stone would have been terrifying with or without magic.
Zed cradled his broken arm against his body as he tried to push himself away across the floor. His sword lay on the cavern floor, just out of reach. It wouldn’t do him much good anyway. He could barely wield the weapon in one hand, much less fight. The dragon loomed over him, wings lazily fanning the air. In the light of the Draconic runes, Zamiel’s copper scales glinted blood red. The beast was more than forty feet long, its serpentine body filling over half the cavern.
“Paladins,” Zamiel said, showing long fangs in a twisted sneer. “Why is it always paladins that cause so much trouble?”
“I think you’re a little confused,” Zed said. “I’m not a paladin.”
“Liar,” the dragon replied. It lashed out with a claw, pinning Zed to the floor. “I can smell the stink of the Silver Flame upon your soul. How did you find this cavern, mortal? Who sent you here?” The dragon flexed just a bit, digging one claw deep into Zed’s shoulder.
In the midst of his terror and pain, something sparked in Zed’s mind. Why wasn’t he dead already? Why would a powerful dragon care enough about a random intruder to interrogate him like this? What in this cave was so important? It had to be the Prophecy. But why did Zamiel care who had sent him?
Because Zamiel was afraid. The dragon was afraid that someone had discovered him—someone that could hurt him. Zed couldn’t imagine such a creature being afraid of anyone on Karia Naille like that. What had he stumbled on?
Zed mustered up a smug grin. “Who do you think sent me?” he asked, bluffing as hard as he could. He wasn’t sure where he was going with this. He just hoped he was giving Eraina enough time to get away.
“Do not trifle with me, mortal!” Zamiel shrieked. “Who told you of this cavern?” The creature leaned forward, placing a bit more of its weight against Zed’s arm and chest. The inquisitive grunted in pain.
“It’s too late for you,” Zed said. “I’ve seen what I need to see and passed the message on. Even if you kill me, they know what you’re doing. They won’t be long.”
The dragon’s eyes narrowed into slits. Zed sensed he had pushed too far. Zamiel was no longer buying what he was selling.
“And what, precisely, am I doing?” the dragon said in clipped tones.
Zed scowled. “Planning to destroy Sharn,” he guessed, though he knew as he said it that there had to be more than that.
The dragon blinked. His grip loosened and he took a step back to stare down at Zed. “Is that all you know?” he said, chuckling darkly. “You must have stumbled in here by mistake. To think I was concerned.”
“You’ve altered the Prophecy,” he added.
The dragon’s eyes narrowed in hatred. “And you will die like the others who learned too much.”
Zamiel’s chest filled out as it took in a deep breath. Zed lunged for his sword, lifting the huge weapon feebly in one hand. He closed his eyes and whispered a short prayer, asking the Silver Flame to protect the Mourning Dawn.
A flash of golden light erupted behind the dragon’s head. Zamiel reeled, stunned, as Eraina called upon her goddess and smote him in the back of his neck with her spear. The creature shrieked and lurched to swat her away, but she had already leaped free. She pulled Zed to his feet and ran, dragging him back the way they had come. They stumbled into the tunnel, running as swiftly as they could down the slope. The water was much deeper than it had been before.
“You hurt him,” Zed said.
“Not badly enough,” Eraina said, “and I won’t get that chance again. Run!”
Behind them, they could hear the dragon roar in impotent fury, unable to pursue them in his current form. Zamiel sucked in air for a mighty breath again. Zed grabbed Eraina and dove under the surface, pulling her down just as the cloud of acid washed over them. He felt his face tingle and burn as t
he dragon’s toxic saliva mixed with the water, but he was otherwise unharmed.
They emerged again in the chamber where Eraina had awakened. The cave was also swiftly filling with water, streaming down the walls from above. The earthy smell of rain filled the cave. An open tunnel still led to the north, offering uncertain escape. The passage to the west, toward the chapel, was still choked with rubble. Eraina began wading to the north, but Zed stopped her, seizing her by the arm and dragging her to the western tunnel. She looked at him in confusion, but he didn’t say a word. He clambered among the rubble and dropped under the water. Realizing what he was about, she followed.
Under the water, Zed pulled his long smoking pipe from his pocket, poking it through the surface to breathe. He took a few breaths, then handed it to Eraina, who winced at the smoky taste of the air before handing it back. They both held very still, moving just enough to pass the pipe.
After half a minute, another person clambered into the flooding chamber. Zed couldn’t see it clearly through the dark water, but it could only be Zamiel, returned to his human form to pursue them. He barely even paused before charging down the north tunnel. Waiting nearly another minute for him to leave, Zed finally emerged from the water. Eraina rose beside him, doing her best not to cough.
“We don’t even know what’s down that way,” Zed said, “but we know Fort Ash is the other way. Let Zamiel think he’s chasing us while we get out of here.”
“What do you think is down that way?” Eraina asked.
“Let me see your arm,” she said.
“No time,” he said, clutching his injured limb against his body.
“Zed,” she said more urgently. “Stop before you hurt yourself permanently.”
He sighed and relented, recognizing that to continue arguing against her was pointless. Eraina leaned close, holding his forearm gingerly. Her fingers suddenly tightened and he heard a quick snap. Zed winced and bit his lower lip to keep from screaming.
“You could have told me you were going to set it,” he rasped.
Eraina smiled demurely and splinted a shaft of wooden debris to his arm. “We can fix it properly later, after I’ve had time to rest.”
“Fine,” he said. He tucked his injured arm into his shirt as an improvised sling. “We have to get back to Fort Ash as quickly as we can. This cave is flooding fast, and I have a feeling there’s one good reason a sudden storm like this would have happened.” Zed looked at her meaningfully.
“Aeven is here,” Eraina whispered.
“Let’s hope,” he said.
They hurried through the flooding cavern as quickly as they dared. They reached the cavern where Zamiel had revealed himself and passed beyond into the tunnel from which he had come. The natural stone cavern ascended, becoming hewn stairs. Eraina drew her short sword and led the way carefully as they emerged into a stone cellar filled with barrels and crates. A flight of wooden stairs led the way to a closed door. There were no guards to be seen. The raucous sound of the thunderstorm resounded through the fortress, along with the clash and cry of battle.
“What’s going on out there?” Zed asked.
As if in answer, the cellar door burst open, nearly falling off its hinges from the force of it. A hunchbacked ghoul clambered out onto the stairs, sniffing the air eagerly. It threw back its head and gave a piercing cry. Three more of the wretches joined it on the stairs. Eraina held out her holy symbol and shouted in Boldrei’s name. The creatures shrieked and scattered. One withdrew, cowering behind the doorway. The other three tumbled off the stairs and scurried into the shadows beneath. Eraina ran up the stairs, Zed barely a step behind. She lashed out with her sword as she emerged through the doorway, keeping the last ghoul at bay. Zed slammed the door behind them and looked up.
The Seventh Moon now hovered above the courtyard, her elemental ring burning angry red. The ship moved much more ponderously than Zed remembered. Even from here, he could see soldiers fighting on the deck above, struggling to expel the undead that had invaded their ship. He searched the sky, but could see no sign of Karia Naille. Undead continued to burst through the gates and climb over the walls. The defenders of Fort Ash were fighting a losing battle.
“There’s nothing we can do to stop the Moon from down here,” Eraina said. “We have to escape.”
Zed pointed at a stable on the far side of the courtyard. The ghouls and specters had not yet invaded it. “Will your goddess forgive us if we steal a couple of horses to get out of here?” he said.
“I think she may take our circumstances into consideration,” Eraina answered, pushing past him toward the stable.
The instant Eraina unlatched the door, the horses began to whinny and kick at their enclosures. The animals could sense the unnatural creatures outside and were terrified. She quickly moved toward the two nearest steeds, soothing them with a few whispered words and calming them enough to accept saddles. Zed, feeling useless with his broken arm, stood in the shadows of the door and kept watch. Strangely, none of the Cyrans had moved toward the stable at all. None of them even seemed to be making any effort to escape, other than the ones aboard the Seventh Moon.
Either Marth’s soldiers were entirely confident that they would emerge victorious, or they were willing to die to the last man to repel the invaders. Whatever the truth, the time to leave was long past. Eraina led the two horses out of their stalls and handed Zed the reins of one. He eagerly climbed up into the saddle. The animal shifted from foot to foot, as impatient to be gone from this place as he was.
With a short cry, Eraina kicked her steed into a gallop and led the way out of Fort Ash. They ran as quickly as they could, before the undead could gather their wits to attack or the Cyrans realize that they were intruders. In seconds they had escaped the city walls and flew off down the road toward Nathyrr.
“Where is Karia Naille?” Eraina called out as they rode. She searched the sky desperately when the canopy allowed.
“She must be here somewhere,” Zed said. “All of that back there couldn’t have been a coincidence.”
“If she is here, she isn’t in time to stop the Seventh Moon,” Eraina said. “Marth is already on his way to Sharn.”
Zed nodded grimly.
“So what do we do next?” Eraina asked.
The sound of approaching horsemen drove them off to hide in the underbrush. Zed watched the road, expecting to see more Cyran soldiers. His eyes widened in surprise. A platoon of Thrane knights rode down the road, led by a warrior with a familiar banner.
“Draikus,” Zed said.
“The Thrane are working with Marth?” Eraina asked.
“No,” Zed said, shaking his head. “For all his faults, Draikus is no traitor. He wouldn’t ally himself with a man like Marth.”
“Then what is he doing here?” she asked.
“Maybe he followed us?” Zed offered, though he didn’t know how that could be possible. Zed frowned.
“I recognize that look,” Eraina said. “You have a plan—one that you know that I will dislike.”
“Actually,” Zed said. “I’m just scowling because I don’t like this plan. I’m about to suggest we do what I hate most.”
Eraina studied him for a long moment. “Ask for help?” she guessed.
Zed nodded.
NINETEEN
It was strange how, after all her adventures, something like running through the passageways of a renegade airship while the crew battled a hostile invading force in the middle of a rampaging magical storm just ended up feeling strangely familiar to Seren. Maybe she was becoming too jaded.
“The ship’s elemental housing chamber is this way,” Tristam said, leading them deeper into the ship. “We can disable the Seventh Moon the same way we did last time.”
“But this time Karia Naille might not be here to catch us,” Seren warned.
“Try not to think about that,” Tristam said. “I saw life rings up on the deck. Maybe we’ll have time to run up and grab one. Their enchantments are usually str
ong enough to carry a few people float safely to the ground at one time. Most of the time.”
Shaimin glanced behind them uncomfortably. “You say this is how you disabled the Seventh Moon last time?” he asked.
“Almost exactly what we did last time,” Tristam said. He reached for the door of the containment chamber.
“Wait, Tristam,” Shaimin warned, but he spoke too late.
As Tristam opened the door, several hatches opened in the hallway behind them. A dozen Cyran soldiers stepped out, aiming crossbows at them. Marth waited patiently in the chamber beyond, amethyst wand in one hand. The walls of the housing chamber were still blackened with smoke from Tristam and Marth’s last battle here. The ship’s old core was a shattered husk. The glass half of the floor was still shattered, creating a yawning void between Tristam and Marth. The airship had ascended so high that the land below was only partially visible through the pouring rain.
“Hello, Tristam,” Marth said.
“You were expecting us,” Tristam answered.
Marth sighed. “Throughout this adventure I have suffered terribly for underestimating you, Tristam,” the changeling said. “Now you have some understanding of how I feel.”
“You moved the ship’s core,” Tristam said.
Marth shrugged. “When I rebuilt her, yes. After going to all the trouble to repair Kenshi Zhann, why leave her vulnerable to your sabotage again? Not to mention I wasn’t looking forward to cleaning this room anyway. You truly made a mess of this place.” He looked at the shattered floor and scorched walls with distaste.
“Are you going to kill us?” Shaimin asked.
“I should,” Marth said. “Two weeks ago I might have. Difficult to say. Now, things have changed. None of you are any further danger to me, and you’re about to replace me as pawns in a larger game. So I leave the choice to you. Drop your weapons and return to the main deck. I shall explain everything that is about to happen.”
“I’ve already heard your rhetoric, old friend,” Shaimin said. “I’ll take my chances with the storm before I sit through it again.”
