Rise of the Seventh Moon: Heirs of Ash, Book 3

by Wulf, Rich

  Ijaac threw open the bay door and hurled out the ladder. Pherris heard the bay doors close just as the Moon came into range. He flew her just over the road, skimming the forest for cover. Lightning streaked past them, blazing between the ship’s hull and the lower half of her elemental ring. Before the Seventh Moon could fire a second time, Karia Naille had gained speed and altitude, placing her well out of range. Rather than pursue them, the Moon turned and gained speed as well. The silver warship soared away through the sky to the west.

  “Marth is leaving,” Pherris said, watching the ship soar away.

  “He’s headed for Sharn,” Tristam said, climbing onto the deck. Seren, Shaimin, Omax, and Ijaac followed. Dalan emerged from his cabin. Gunther poked his head out and sniffed the air tentatively, then vanished back inside to his warm dog bed.

  “What do we do?” Ijaac asked. “As slow as she is, her lightning will still rake us out of the sky if we try to give chase.”

  “We don’t have to give chase,” Pherris said. “We can beat him to Sharn easily at the speed he’s flying.”

  “We could muster aid when we arrive,” Dalan said. “I have a number of contacts on the City Council. He’ll arrive to find half the Brelish military waiting for him. They’ll blow the Moon out of the sky before he even has time to activate the Legacy.”

  “What would you tell them, Dalan?” Tristam asked. “How would you get anyone to move quickly enough to help us without telling them what the Legacy is?”

  “The time for secrecy is past, Tristam,” Dalan snapped. “Two hundred thousand lives hang in the balance, and countless more if this foolish act of terrorism ignites a new war. What does it matter if the Legacy’s secret is exposed, as long as we destroy it?”

  “Because a weapon like that could do even more damage than Marth is planning and we both know it,” Tristam said.

  Dalan bowed his head, conceding the point.

  “There has to be a better way,” Tristam said. “We just need time to think of it.”

  “What can we throw against an airship that can destroy all magic?” Ijaac asked.

  “Another Legacy,” Pherris said.

  Tristam frowned thoughtfully.

  “Maybe Norra has found something,” Seren offered.

  “Maybe,” Tristam said, though he was unconvinced. He looked down at Fort Ash. “Maybe there are more answers down there. Those undead were protecting something.”

  “Marth said the caverns beneath Fort Ash contained the Prophecy,” Shaimin said.

  “Do we really have time to gamble on this?” Dalan asked. “Need I remind you that Fort Ash is still heavily guarded by Cyran mercenaries?”

  “I agree with Dalan,” Pherris said, unsettled by the admission. “We can’t afford to waste time while Marth is on his way to Sharn.”

  The discussion was suddenly suspended as Blizzard alighted noisily on the deck. Gerith leaped from the saddle with a triumphant squeal. “Take us down, Captain!” he shouted, excited. “Take us down near the main road!”

  “Gerith, calm down,” Pherris said, annoyed. “What are you talking about?”

  “They’re alive, Captain!” Gerith said. “Zed and Eraina are alive—and they brought an army with them!”

  TWENTY-ONE

  This had better not be a waste of our time, Arthen,” Captain Draikus said coolly.

  “Draikus, I wish I were lying,” Zed said. “Besides, you just happened to be patrolling out here today anyway, isn’t that right? Some coincidence.”

  Draikus gave a tight smile. “I received a lead on some mercenary activity in the Harrowcrowns,” he said. “There are only a few old ruins that could house that scale of operation, thus I was on my way to investigate them. I am unsurprised to see that you are involved.”

  “Why is that?” Zed asked.

  “My informant is an old associate of yours,” Draikus said.

  Zed blinked in surprise. Dalan was here? If so, then where was the Mourning Dawn? The inquisitive scratched his right forearm absently. He still wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or suspicious that the Captain had healed his broken arm personally. Looking back at the column of Thrane soldiers that now followed them to Fort Ash, he supposed grateful was the more sensible option.

  “I don’t know what’s going on out here, Arthen,” Draikus said, “but you are fortunate that the Sentinel Marshal vouches for you.” Draikus led his horse past Zed’s, not sparing the inquisitive a second glance.

  “I know you dislike him,” Eraina said, moving her horse beside Zed’s, “but he is not an evil man. He serves his god, as you once did.”

  “He’s dangerous,” Zed said. “Too proud and boorish. He does stupid things without thinking them through.”

  “Like you,” Eraina said.

  “Exactly,” Zed said, looking at her seriously. “Following that sort of person is dangerous.”

  Ahead of them, the storm over the Harrowcrowns was swiftly dying away. Zed wondered what that meant. Was the battle over already, or had Aeven simply dispelled her storm? A cold wind washed over them, followed by a burnt electrical smell. Zed felt a sickly sensation in the pit of his stomach. Marth was using the Legacy.

  “What sorcery is this?” Draikus gasped, looking back at Zed and Eraina. “I cannot sense the Flame!”

  Zed realized, to his surprise, that he could no longer sense the Silver Flame’s presence either. He hadn’t really noticed its return. It was, as Eraina said, as if it had never truly left. Now the Legacy had silenced his god’s voice again.

  “This is a temporary effect,” Zed said. “It should fade in time.” He hoped it was the truth. The only time he had felt the Legacy’s power before was Marth’s experimental prototype over Stormhome. What if the effects produced by the final version were permanent?

  “Damn it, what are you leading us into, Arthen?” Draikus said. “First you tell me a dragon and an army of Cyrans are occupying the nearby ruins. Now this … whatever it is. If there really is a dragon in the Harrowcrowns, how are we supposed to fight it without the Silver Flame’s blessings?”

  “Faith,” Zed said, pushing his horse on.

  Draikus watched Zed in angry silence. The other knights and soldiers mumbled uneasily among themselves. Draikus turned upon them. “Keep marching!” he roared, drawing his sword and lifting it in the air. “For Nathyrr and the Silver Flame!” The soldiers immediately complied, pushing onward despite their fear and doubt.

  “He has a commanding presence,” Eraina observed. She watched Draikus circle the assorted soldiers, moving them into line, redirecting their fear from the unknown enemy to the captain who would punish them mercilessly for any sign of cowardice.

  Zed frowned. “Just because he’s good at yelling at people? That doesn’t make him a leader.”

  “I think I know why you dislike this man so much,” Eraina said.

  “Don’t say it,” Zed said. “I’m serious.”

  “He reminds me of you,” Eraina said.

  Several thunderous reports in the forest cut off Zed’s angry reply. Plumes of smoke rose from the treetops ahead.

  “They’re going to burn the whole damned forest down before we even get there to stop them!” Draikus shouted, urging the soldiers to a quicker pace.

  A dark shadow passed overhead. Zed looked up, afraid it might be the dragon. Instead he saw the Seventh Moon, flying steadily away to the west. That was almost as bad.

  Marth was already on his way to Sharn.

  “That looked like a Cyran warship,” Draikus observed with growing unease. He pushed the soldiers onward to greater speed, nearly galloping through the forest.

  They drew up short at the edge of the tree line. Marth’s fortress loomed above them. The bodies of the forest’s undead guardians lay unmoving on the earth. The gates hung open at an awkward angle.

  “What is this place?” Draikus demanded. He stared horrified at the rotting corpses.

  A flicker of movement at the gates drew their attention. Several of the
Thrane soldiers drew crossbows and held them ready. A column of Cyran soldiers emerged from the ruins.

  “Hold!” Draikus commanded.

  “They are unarmed,” Eraina said, surprised.

  Draikus nodded, watching them keenly. He gestured to his troops, which fanned out to surround the approaching soldiers. The Cyrans stopped ten paces away, then knelt on the earth with their hands folded behind their heads.

  “They are surrendering?” Draikus asked, looking at Zed. “This seems too easy.”

  “We’re already too late,” Zed said. “The real danger just escaped in that airship. Marth is gambling that we will take the extra time to capture his men alive.”

  “Unfortunately, he is correct,” Draikus said. He turned to face his soldiers. “Take the Cyrans as prisoners. Doran, organize a watch of a dozen men and keep them under guard while we explore the ruins. Neiran, hurry back to Nathyrr and procure wagons so that we can transport the prisoners back to the city.”

  The men hurried to obey their commander.

  “Is this the same Draikus who asked me what use mercy was against enemies who see mercy as a weakness?” Zed asked.

  Draikus glared at Zed. “Would you rather I murdered them?”

  “No,” Zed said. “Actually, I’m impressed. For once this is the sort of hypocrisy I can support.”

  Draikus opened his mouth to utter an angry retort, but the words died in his mouth. He bowed his head, clasping the silver amulet that hung about his throat. Several of the other Thrane soldiers did the same, mumbling soft prayers to the Silver Flame.

  “I can feel Boldrei’s blessings again,” Eraina said, awed. “The Legacy’s effects have passed.”

  Zed watched in confusion for several moments before he felt something as well. A warm, reassuring presence seemed to fill his soul. He thought he could hear the sound of roaring flame in the distance, swiftly growing closer. The sound was familiar.

  Then the Karia Naille appeared above them, her elemental ring burning a brilliant blue. Zed stared blankly for a long moment. A part of him had never expected to see the airship again. To see her now was such a relief that he could not help but laugh.

  “What now?” Draikus said, swearing under his breath and drawing his crossbow. “It looks to be another Cyran ship, but she bears no markings.”

  “No, no, don’t attack them,” Zed said quickly, pushing Draikus’s crossbow down. “These are friends.”

  The airship descended to hover above them. The bay doors opened and a rope ladder spilled out from above. Tristam, Seren, Omax, and Ijaac climbed down. Gerith flapped to the ground beside them.

  “Zed, Eraina, you’re alive!” Seren said.

  “You seem surprised,” Zed said.

  “Shaimin told us you were dead,” Omax said.

  “Shaimin?” Zed said, spitting out the name with a low growl.

  “I hope these are friends,” Tristam said, looking at the Thrane soldiers cautiously.

  “Arthen is not under arrest today,” Draikus said. “I am Captain Kaivar Draikus, Knight of the Silver Flame.”

  “Tristam Xain of the airship Karia Naille. These are my friends, Seren Morisse, Omax, Ijaac Bruenhail, and Gerith Snowshale.”

  “Karia Naille?” Draikus asked. His lip curled in a sneer. “The Mourning Dawn. I know that name. That’s a Cannith ship, isn’t she?”

  “We all have a great deal to talk about,” Zed said, stepping between Tristam and Draikus, “but we should secure this area first.”

  Draikus studied Zed gravely for several long seconds, then grunted his assent. Zed allowed himself to breathe. Draikus had been remarkably helpful and understanding, given the strange circumstances, but all of that would quickly change if he realized the man who owned the Mourning Dawn was the same d’Cannith who had exposed Therese Kalaven’s war crimes.

  “We need to hurry out of here,” Zed said, heading toward the Mourning Dawn’s ladder. “We have to stop Marth before he reaches Sharn.”

  “Wait, Zed,” Tristam said, turning toward the fortress. “We don’t entirely know what we’re up against, but there might be answers here.”

  “We can come back after we save Sharn,” Zed said.

  “And if we rush into this unprepared, we’ll have no chance,” Tristam said. “There are passages of the Prophecy in the caves underneath this fortress. I need to know what they say.”

  “If we don’t hurry,” Zed said, “Marth is going to kill a lot of people.”

  “Do you think I don’t realize that?” Tristam said. “There’s something deeper going on here, Zed. Sharn is only part of it. Zamiel has manipulated everything from the very beginning—driving Ashrem to recreate the Legacy, sending him to his death in the Mournland, twisting Marth into a deranged murderer; even our own part in this was engineered. I have to know what he is and why he’s doing this before we play into his hands again.”

  “Zamiel is a dragon, Tristam,” Zed said. “We only narrowly escaped him in the caves earlier. He tried to kill us when we discovered the same caverns you’re talking about.”

  “The Prophecy within the cavern is nothing but lies,” Eraina said. “Zamiel has changed the Prophecy somehow to suit his own ends. I can only assume he must have done the same at Zul’nadn.”

  “A dragon?” Tristam replied, genuinely surprised. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he want to unleash the Legacy? A dragon is a creature of magic. Its effects would kill him.”

  “I don’t know,” Zed replied. “I only know what we saw. He was bigger than the one that chased us in the Frostfell.”

  A faint tremor passed through the ground beneath them. Zed frowned and glanced up at the trees. The upper branches swayed gently even though there was no wind. Something was shaking them from their roots. The sound of cracking stone erupted from deep beneath them. The earth rumbled. A cloud of billowing dust suddenly rose from the depths of Fort Ash. The walls of the castle shook violently.

  “Withdraw!” Draikus shouted, backing away from the walls. “The ruins are collapsing!”

  The soldiers quickly complied, swiftly moving away from the crumbling fortress. Their prisoners moved with them, watching in stunned silence as their home fell in upon itself. In a matter of moments, it was done. Fort Ash lay in ruins. After a few tense moments of silence, an explosion of earth and stone erupted from the center of the ruins. A long, sinuous shape broke from the earth, climbing into the sky on immense bat wings, unleashing galeforce winds over the forest. Its reptilian body shone with brilliant copper scales. It soared into the clouds and was seen no more.

  “The prophet,” Tristam said, amazed.

  “I guess Zamiel doesn’t want us reading his prophecy after all,” Ijaac observed.

  “Damn,” Tristam said. “I just wanted some answers.”

  “You’re not the only one.” Captain Draikus cleared his throat loudly, drawing their attention. “Dragons, Cyran mercenaries, the Prophecy, and a plot to attack Sharn? I would appreciate it if someone fully explained to me what is happening.”

  Tristam looked at Draikus. Zed could see the fear in the boy’s eyes. Tristam was afraid for the secrecy of their mission, worried that if the Thrane found out about the Legacy, it might fall into the wrong hands.

  “Draikus, could I have a moment alone to speak to Tristam?” Zed asked.

  Draikus regarded Zed suspiciously. “I will not allow you and your friends to play games with the security of my people.”

  “Our people,” Zed said. “I’m still Thrane, Draikus. Even after all that’s happened, do you think I would do anything to place our homeland in danger?”

  The knight stared into Zed’s eyes. “I suppose not,” Draikus said. “But be swift.” He stepped away brusquely, shouting commands to his confused soldiers.

  Zed gripped Tristam’s sleeve and pulled him to one side.

  “What do you think you’re doing, bringing him into this, Zed?” Tristam whispered. “He’s a Knight of Thrane. You know what could happen if the Fi
ve Nations learn about the Legacy.”

  “Tristam, think,” Zed said. “This is bigger than any of us. This can’t stay secret anymore.”

  Tristam’s eyes widened. “What are you saying, Zed?”

  “Think about it, Tristam. Secrecy is what’s been killing us from the very beginning,” Zed said. “We’ve always moved cautiously because we’re afraid the Legacy would fall into the wrong hands. When I looked into the dragon’s eyes, I knew what a terrible mistake we had made. Secrecy only serves to help Marth and Zamiel. I don’t think the Legacy could possibly be in worse hands than it is now. Zamiel doesn’t care that we know what he is anymore because it’s too late to matter. Marth’s on his way to destroy an entire city and reignite the War. We’ve been outnumbered from the start because we were afraid to trust anyone. If we hadn’t been so damned paranoid, maybe things wouldn’t have gotten this far. Marth knows that when he destroys Sharn, the Five Nations will blame one another, but his entire plan would have been impossible if people knew the truth all along. If Sharn dies, Tristam, we share the responsibility for what happens afterward. We were so arrogant we believed we were the only ones worthy enough to stop him. We were wrong.”

  Tristam’s shoulders slumped as Zed’s words sank in. “So what do we do?” he asked.

  “We tell Draikus what’s going on,” Zed said. “That way if we fail, and Sharn falls, at least someone will know. Maybe if Draikus tells enough people the truth, at least Thrane won’t be stupid enough to get involved with this war because of one madman’s actions.”

  “But what about the Legacy?” Tristam asked, folding his arms tightly across his chest. “We can’t let its secret get out.”

  “That part is still up to us,” Zed said, clasping the artificer’s shoulder with one hand.