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

by Wulf, Rich

  “That sounds incredibly dangerous,” Omax said.

  Tristam shrugged. “I can’t let Sharn die while there’s still a chance I can help,” he said. He headed toward the core chamber. “You’ll have about five minutes before I can crack the core. Land the ship on the main island—or at least get it as close as you can!”

  Omax grunted his assent and hurried off. Seren waited behind for a moment. Tristam looked back at her nervously.

  “I’m sorry, Seren,” Tristam said, unable to meet her eyes.

  “Sorry?” she said. “For what?”

  “That I couldn’t finish it,” he said. “Even after everything Marth did, I was ready to forgive him. All I could see was my friend.”

  Seren wanted to reassure him, to tell him it was all right, that to offer compassion to an enemy wasn’t weakness. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. She loved Tristam, but a part of her still hated Marth too much. Instead she just moved to him, pressed her lips to his, and smiled sadly.

  “Good luck,” she said.

  “Hurry up to the helm and help Omax and Shaimin,” Tristam said. “There still might be soldiers up there willing to put up a fight.”

  Seren nodded and hurried off through the ship.

  In the corridor adjoining the ship’s bridge, a Cyran soldier burst out of a cabin. He was only a year or two older than Seren. He held a sword in one hand and had a life ring slung over his shoulder. His eyes were wide with terror as he brandished the weapon at her.

  “Please,” he whimpered, backing away from her. “I don’t want to fight. I just want out of here.”

  “Go,” she said. She held out her empty hands to show she meant no harm. The man turned and ran away through the ship. She felt a strange sense of pity. So this was their enemy. These were the men who had served Marth. They weren’t monsters—just sad souls with nowhere else left to go. Had her life gone just a bit differently, she might have been in their place. She neither saw nor heard any other crew. Most of them had likely abandoned ship.

  Seren pushed open the hatch to the bridge and stepped inside. Omax stood at the helm, his large hands grasping the controls. Unlike the Mourning Dawn, the Seventh Moon’s helm was contained inside a large bridge. One wall was clear glass, displaying the Sharn skyline. Beneath them, Skyway’s central island trembled. Glowing fractures continued to spread through the clouds like a spider’s web. Airships circled at a safe distance around the Moon, occasionally releasing bursts of lightning in their direction. The Brelish were clearly wary of the ship’s power but were afraid to approach too close.

  The helmsman still lay on the floor where Shaimin had killed him. Next to him lay a second body, now covered in Shaimin’s cloak. A pair of familiar velvet boots poked out from beneath them. The pungent odor of burnt flesh hung on the air. She turned away, covering her mouth and gagging.

  “He knew the sacrifice he was making, Seren,” Omax said. “I think Shaimin intended to return the life that he owed to Marth.”

  She turned away, unable to look at the fallen elf. Why did it bother her so much? She had seen men die before, and she had hated Shaimin. The elf had almost killed her. He had been the last member of their makeshift crew that she would have expected to make such a sacrifice.

  The Seventh Moon bucked again as another blast took her, throwing Seren off balance. Omax’s hands gripped the helm so tightly that she heard the wooden handles creak between his fingers. Skyway was so close now that Seren could see panicked people running through the streets.

  “Do you know how to fly an airship, Omax?” Seren called out.

  “No,” Omax said, “but I do not need to fly her. I need only find a place to crash her.”

  “There!” Seren said, pointing ahead and to the left.

  Behind a crumbling mansion, a grassy courtyard the size of a large park offered a relatively flat landing area. Omax nodded and fought with the helm, steering the crippled airship down. Seren glanced around for something on the bridge that she could hang on to when the ship crashed, but found only one thing. She clung to Omax. He removed one hand from the helm, holding her to his side.

  With a deafening crash and a violent wrenching, the Seventh Moon collided with Skyway. Seren turned away as the forward wall shattered, showering them with broken glass and soft earth. The airship continued her forward motion, digging a deep gouge through the courtyard. A terrible shriek of tearing metal was the proud vessel’s death cry as she landed for the last time.

  The ship’s bridge tilted at a wild angle. Omax’s grip on the controls had not wavered, nor did he even stagger when as the ship collided with the ground. He held Seren steady against him until the ship finally ground to a halt. He released her and backed away from the helm. The ship’s controls now had three grooves where the warforged’s hands had gripped them. Dirt from the ship’s nosedive now filled half the bridge.

  “Tristam,” Seren said, looking back. The corridor leading to the bridge had partially collapsed, filled with flaming timber and twisted metal.

  “Climb out through the porthole,” Omax said to her as he entered the corridor, shoving timbers aside. “I will find him.”

  Seren moved as if to follow him, but Omax stopped her with a look.

  “Please, Seren,” he said. “I will move more swiftly if I am not protecting you as well. Go.”

  Seren clambered up the sloped heap of dirt and wreckage. She felt glass bite her hands and knees but ignored the pain as she heaved herself out of the airship. The ground beneath her feet trembled as Skyway began to crumble. She climbed out of the crater the Moon had left behind and looked back.

  In the sky overhead, the Brelish airships had broken formation and spread out across Skyway. Seren reasoned that, with the attacker dealt with, they were hurrying to evacuate anyone they could before the island crashed. The Mourning Dawn was nowhere to be seen.

  Half the airship had disintegrated on impact, leaving a trail of burning wood across the courtyard. The ship lay on her side. From here Seren could see the hole in her belly that Tristam had made during their first escape from the ship so long ago; the same room where Marth had died. Only one of the ship’s struts had survived impact. The tip of the arm still burned with a bright red fire; the ship’s elemental was still intact. As Seren watched, the red light grew brighter.

  “Tristam, Omax,” Seren whispered as she watched helplessly. “Get out of there!”

  The wreckage of the Seventh Moon shuddered. Plumes of red fire erupted from the hull. A loud, keening wail began from somewhere deep within the ship. It reminded Seren of the Fellmaw’s screams at Zul’nadn.

  She caught a glimpse of a large figure leaping out of the hole in the ship’s belly with something heavy slumped over one shoulder, and then the Seventh Moon exploded in a sphere of brilliant white energy. Seren was thrown to the ground as the shockwave rolled over her. She could see nothing but white light. A sense of warmth suffused her, a sharp contrast to the bitter cold that always accompanied the Legacy’s use.

  Then the light faded. The warmth subsided. Seren’s vision slowly returned. The ground no longer shook. The terrifying fissures that split the island receded and vanished entirely. Omax stood over her, beaten and scorched, but alive. He held Tristam’s body carefully in his arms.

  “He is alive,” Omax said, “but only just.”

  Seren nodded in relief, unable to speak. A familiar hum drew her eyes up. A burning ring of blue flame pierced the night above them.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Amazing,” Zed said. The inquisitive stood at the ship’s rail, staring out at Skyway. Far beneath them, the floating city district had completely stabilized. Bits of cloud that had vaporized when Marth had used the Legacy were beginning to regenerate. The Brelish fleet circled the district in a buzz of activity, making certain Skyway was stable and that no more attackers lay in wait. Above the Mourning Dawn, a massive Brelish warship hovered patiently. Its docking ladder hung only a few feet above their deck. Zed cast the ship a nervous look
then turned to Omax.

  “How did Tristam do it?”

  “That which can destroy can also preserve,” the warforged said simply.

  Zed looked at Omax curiously. The warforged paid him no mind, watching the skyline with rapt attention. Ijaac and Gerith stood at the rail watching in awe. Aeven’s head was bowed as she leaned against her figurehead. The dryad wept softly.

  “Kenshi Zhann is free now,” she whispered.

  “Where in Khyber is Shaimin?” Zed said, looking around the deck in irritation. “If that elf abandoned us again …”

  “Shaimin perished on the Seventh Moon,” Omax said. “He sacrificed himself to delay Marth while we cleared the way to the ship’s core.”

  “Oh,” Zed said, surprised. He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed by the elf’s final act of heroism or relieved that Shaimin wasn’t coming back. Either way, he’d never expected that sort of thing out of a Thuranni.

  Dalan’s hatch opened behind them and a trio of Brelish officers emerged. They cast a cold, suspicious gaze over the crew before climbing the ladder and returning to their ship. The huge airship banked and soared away, joining her fleet in the patrol of Skyway.

  “Pherris, get us out of here quickly,” Dalan said, appearing from within his cabin. “I have satisfied Captain Hoyt and his crew for the moment, but we should remove ourselves from the area while we are able.”

  “What did you tell them?” Zed asked.

  “I leaned quite heavily on my family name,” Dalan said. “That, combined with the fact that our ship has no weapons, Draikus’s warning that Marth was coming, and Tristam’s bravery have allayed their suspicions for now. Captain Hoyt and his men are keenly interested in the safety of the city. Rescuing survivors is his current priority. It is only a matter of time, however, before Hoyt’s superiors begin wondering what just happened here and direct him to conduct more … energetic investigations. So let us vanish before they find their curiosity.”

  “Aye, Dalan,” Pherris said. “Where to?”

  “We still need to rendezvous with Norra and find out what she’s learned,” Zed said. “Zamiel is still out there.”

  “Morgrave University, then,” Dalan said. “Southern central Sharn, if memory serves.”

  The Mourning Dawn banked and descended in a wide arc, leaving the floating district of Skyway behind as she dipped down into the City of Towers. The airship soared through narrow canyons between broad walls of buildings. People walked about the city on raised bridges and narrow catwalks, paying no attention to the ship as it flew past.

  “Khyber, they all live in the sky,” Ijaac mumbled, terrified. “How can they stand it?”

  “Not everyone is afraid of heights, Ijaac,” Gerith teased.

  “Cautious!” the dwarf snapped, flushing. “I’m just cautious.”

  “I’m going to check on Tristam,” Zed said, heading toward the ladder that led to the lower deck.

  “He should be well enough in Eraina’s hands,” Dalan said. “I shall need you presently.”

  “Me?” Zed asked, looking at Dalan. “Why?”

  “Norra’s last post was curious, even for her,” Dalan said. “I suspect there may be trouble. You know this city better than the rest of us.”

  “All right, but didn’t you live here as well, Dalan?” Zed said.

  “I was an ambassador of a dragonmarked house,” Dalan said. “I came here as a tourist. You lived here as an inquisitive.”

  “Details,” Zed replied.

  “Ijaac, Omax, accompany us,” Dalan said.

  “Expecting trouble?” Ijaac said. He rested one gnarled hand on the butt of his morningstar.

  “Indeed,” Dalan replied. “This is not nearly over yet.”

  The spires of Dalannan Tower rose before them, higher than any of the surrounding buildings. Karia Naille circled the tower that housed the University and descended to a small docking tower. Zed disembarked with the others, pausing only to glance back at the Mourning Dawn’s scorched hull.

  “There is a small Tinker’s Guildhouse in northwestern Tavick’s Landing, lower level,” Dalan said to the captain as he walked down the gangplank. “Ask for Maris d’Cannith and give her my name. She will discreetly arrange for repairs.”

  “Aye, Dalan,” Pherris said. “Good luck.”

  “And to you,” Dalan replied.

  With a steady crackle of magical fire, Karia Naille ascended and soared away through the city. Zed watched her depart without a word. When he turned to leave, he noticed Dalan watching the ship leave with an oddly pensive expression.

  “Something on your mind, d’Cannith?” Zed asked as he started down the stairs toward the street below.

  “I just had a rather troublesome thought,” the guildmaster replied, following.

  “What is it?”

  “Zamiel,” Dalan said. “We know that he guided and supported Marth, but we still don’t know why. What interest would a dragon have in turning the Five Nations against each other? I would think mortal politics would be beneath such a creature.”

  “No way to know,” Zed said. “I just hope Norra turned up something that will help.”

  “But we do know one thing for sure,” Dalan said. “If a creature with Zamiel’s power wished to foment rebellion, he could have done so in any number of ways. Instead, he chose specifically to aid Marth in rebuilding the Legacy.”

  Zed turned to look at Dalan as they walked out into the street. “What are you getting at, Dalan?”

  “I was just thinking that we could end all of this very easily right now,” Dalan said. “The Dragon’s Eye was destroyed. There’s only one way the Legacy could ever be rebuilt—and that’s using the Mourning Dawn’s elemental core.”

  “So if we scrap the Karia Naille, he’ll be out of luck,” Ijaac said, completing the thought.

  “Not scrap her so much as dismantle her core,” Dalan said.

  “No,” Omax said bluntly. “The Legacy can do great good as well as great harm. You saw as much in Skyway.”

  “I saw no such thing,” Dalan said. “I only saw Tristam abort a catastrophe that the Legacy itself created. Many people still died up there today. Without the Legacy, none of that would have happened.”

  “And without the Mourning Dawn, we would never have stopped it,” Zed said. “What if we did destroy the airship, just to spite Zamiel? What would that accomplish? Zamiel’s not even mortal. He has nothing but time to find another way to rebuild the Legacy.”

  “Perhaps not within our lifetimes,” Dalan said. “If the Legacy is irrevocably destroyed, Zamiel will have no further reason to pursue us outside of simple revenge.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this, Dalan,” Zed said, incredulous. “We can’t destroy our ship.”

  “My ship, Arthen,” Dalan corrected. “I shall do what I like with it in the end, but I am soliciting your opinions lest I do something foolish.”

  “Well this idea is pretty foolish,” Zed snapped.

  “Is it?” Dalan said. “Try to remember that if Tristam had destroyed the Dying Sun instead of repairing her that none of this would have ever happened.”

  “The Mourning Dawn is connected to a source of incredible power,” Omax said. “That power can accomplish great good or great evil. You would destroy something because you fear its evil rather than protect it to ensure its good?”

  “I would,” Dalan said.

  “And what about me?” Omax said tersely. “I was built to be a killer. Would you destroy me as well?”

  “That’s entirely different, Omax,” Dalan said.

  “I do not see how,” the warforged said, shaking his head sadly

  “Well, I’ll say this, Dalan,” Zed said. “It’s your ship to do with as you like. Just let me know when you plan to try and destroy her, because I don’t want to be anywhere nearby when Aeven finds out what you’re planning.”

  Dalan sighed. “Do not misunderstand me, Arthen,” he said. “I do not savor the idea of destroying Karia Naill
e. That airship is more of a home to me than Wroat or Metrol ever were. I have treasured my time among her crew despite the fact that most of you despise me. The fact remains that she can destroy entire cities.” He swept one arm toward a distant tower that had fallen when the island began to shift. “We have no idea how powerful Zamiel is. If he finds us, we may have no hope of stopping him from taking what he desires. If we destroy the Legacy, we may hamper his plans indefinitely.”

  “We may,” Zed said. “I don’t think we should take that kind of risk on a maybe.”

  Dalan glowered at Zed. The inquisitive met his gaze squarely.

  “And I was still excited that we’d saved the city,” Ijaac said glumly. “You lot have a way of ruining a dwarf’s good mood.”

  “I have decided on nothing,” Dalan said. “With luck, Tristam may have a way to separate the Legacy from the ship’s core without harm, or Norra may have discovered something important. I merely try to prepare for the worst.”

  They strode up the steps of Morgrave University and passed through the gates into a large courtyard. Small groups of students stood here and there amid the trees. All of them were talking anxiously among one another and watching the sky. Zed felt as if the heavy stone walls were watching him, pressing down around him. The ancient campus resonated an aura of importance. The courtyard was thick with the hushed silence that fills all houses of learning, even more muted today following the terrifying sights that had filled the sky.

  “Remember, none of these people have any idea what just happened up there,” Dalan said as they continued. “Try to appear as confused and terrified as they are.”

  Zed chuckled. That should be easy enough to pull off. After all that they had been through, he felt as confused and terrified as anybody else here.

  As they approached the main library, a guard in a slate gray uniform approached them with one outstretched hand. He looked at Omax suspiciously, then turned to Dalan.

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen,” he said. “The campus is closed to all visitors at the moment.”