by Wulf, Rich
Now the vast homeland of the halflings stretched below them. It would not be long before they arrived at their goal. With this sunset, it would be seven days since the battle over Sharn. Zed was silently impressed. He hadn’t thought even the Mourning Dawn could make this trip so swiftly. He avoided saying anything on the matter. Pherris was too occupied on their course. Any distraction, even praise, was likely to upset the gnome.
Zed had taken his evening’s dinner to the deck to enjoy a Plains sunset. His massive sword hung over one shoulder; he knew he would need it soon. As Zed looked for a barrel or crate to sit on, he noticed Gerith huddled in the corner of the deck. The halfling quietly stroked his glidewing’s neck and sang quietly to himself. Zed didn’t recognize the words, but the tone was moody and oddly heartbreaking. Zed sat quietly and listened. Near the end of the song, Seren climbed onto the deck and sat beside him, listening as well.
“That was beautiful,” Seren said when Gerith was done. “What was that?”
“A song of good-bye,” Gerith said. “A song for friends who will never come home again. My grandfather taught it to me.”
“Who are you singing for?” Zed asked, taking out his pipe and stuffing the bowl.
“For Norra and Shaimin,” Gerith said. “For Marth.”
“Marth?” Seren asked. “Why?”
The halfling looked at her with haunted eyes. “I know you did what had to be done, Seren,” Gerith said. “I hated Marth for what he did to the Ghost Talons … but when I learned what happened to his family, I started to wonder. How easy would it be for a good man to become what he became?”
“Too easy,” Zed said.
Gerith nodded. “I sing for them, and for myself.”
“Listen, Gerith, if you’re afraid of entering the Boneyard …” Zed said. “Everyone understands your tribe’s beliefs. You can take Blizzard and fly away before we land. No one will think any less of you.”
“I’m not talking about the Boneyard,” Gerith said vehemently. “I already decided I was coming with you. I wouldn’t be able to face myself if I didn’t help. I’m not afraid of the curse.”
“Oh,” Zed said, taken aback by the fire in the halfling’s words. On their last visit, Gerith and the other halflings had been terribly suspicious of the Boneyard, believing any halfling who entered would die far from home, unmourned.
“You both know about my promise,” the halfling said. “I told my grandfather I wouldn’t return until I found a story greater than any of his. In Sharn, I realized that would never happen.”
“What do you mean?” Seren asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” the hafling said, waving them away. “It isn’t important.”
“Master Xain!” Pherris called from the helm. “We’re nearly there. Make ready.”
Tristam limped onto the deck, still unsteady on his crutch. He steadied his new sword on his belt as he stared out to the east. The jagged white spires of the Boneyard were already visible.
Eraina, Ijaac, and Omax emerged as well. Eraina stared at Zed for a long moment.
“What?” he asked, looking up at her uncomfortably.
“There is something different about you today, Arthen,” she said. Her eyes moved to his throat. A Silver Flame amulet now hung there openly.
“Just something I picked up in Nathyrr,” he said. His eyes flicked away nervously.
“Of course,” she replied.
“I still cannot believe we’re doing this,” Dalan said, stepping out of his cabin and standing beside Tristam. “I can state without reservation or hyperbole that this is your most ridiculous idea yet, Tristam.”
“It’s your ship, Dalan,” Tristam said. “Order her to turn about if you don’t want to do this. Or scrap her. That’s what you wanted to do back in Sharn, wasn’t it?”
Gerith looked at Dalan curiously, then returned to his course. Dalan’s dark eyes flicked toward Zed.
“Do not hurl my words at me out of context,” Dalan said. “From the very start of this, Zamiel’s hunger for the Legacy has caused no end of violence and pain. We could dismantle Karia Naille’s core, release her elemental to return to its home world, and bind a new one. The ship would still fly but the Legacy would be no more. Zamiel’s plans would be halted and we wouldn’t be throwing our lives away attacking a dragon.”
Aeven turned her cool gaze on them from the bow of the ship. “Karia Naille feels privileged to share in our adventures,” the dryad said, “but she would like nothing more than to be rejoined with her sisters.”
“There! Even Aeven agrees with me for once!” Dalan said. “We can still turn the ship around, Tristam.”
Tristam ran a nervous hand through his hair as he stared at the Boneyard. “What do you think, Zed?” he asked, looking at the inquisitive.
Zed coughed on his pipe, surprised that Tristam had asked for his opinion. “Hard to say,” Zed said, gathering his thoughts. “If that prophecy you read was a fake, then Dalan is right. We’re probably better off dismantling the Legacy and making Zamiel start from scratch. We don’t even know what he can do. Remember how tough Mercheldethast was? He was a baby compared to Zamiel.”
“This is what I’m talking about!” Gerith shouted fiercely, rising to his feet. His eyes glistened with tears. “I started this adventure because I was looking for a great story to tell my grandfather—but now I know I’ll never find it. Real stories don’t have happy endings. We fought Marth. We stopped him—but people still died. I saw them falling in Skyway. I heard them screaming for help … but I couldn’t help. It’s always been the same. For every victory, there’s a tragedy. For every hero who defeats a villain, there are ten people the hero couldn’t save in time. Now here we are, at the end of this, and we’re going to let Zamiel escape?”
Zed tapped out his pipe on the rail and tucked it back into his coat. Suddenly he didn’t feel much like smoking anymore. The sun finally vanished behind the horizon. Gentle moonlight illuminated the plains.
“It isn’t that simple, Gerith,” Dalan said.
“Oh?” the halfling said, glaring up at the guildmaster. “Why isn’t it, Dalan? It seems pretty simple to me.”
“Gerith is right,” Zed said, standing up straight and steadying his sword over his shoulder. “We have to make a stand.”
Dalan glanced at Zed, looking quizzically at the amulet that hung around his throat. “Peculiar time for you to find your faith, Arthen,” Dalan said. “This is a time for logic, not emotion.”
“No, Dalan,” Zed said fiercely. “This is the perfect time for emotion. Don’t you remember why you got involved in all of this?”
“Because I wanted to claim my uncle’s research for myself and use it to seize control of House Cannith,” the guildmaster said. “I’ve confessed to my reckless ambitions and done my best to atone.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Zed said. “When you learned what Marth was doing, why did you keep hunting him? Seren, when Dalan told you to go home, why did you refuse? Eraina, when your superiors told you that searching for Grove’s murderer was a waste of time, why did you argue?” He looked at each member of the crew. “I could go on with this for each one of you, but the answer is always the same. We’ve all faced times when it would have been easier to stand aside, but we didn’t. Why?”
“Sometimes the worst thing you can do is nothing at all,” Seren said.
“We are close now,” Omax said. All eyes turned to the warforged. “As we draw nearer to the Boneyard, the more certain I am that Markhelm’s journal is at least partially true. I can sense the Timeless, as I could each time the Legacy was activated. Deep in the Boneyard, he stirs. He seeks the missing parts of himself.”
“The power that was released each time the Legacy was used,” Tristam said. “We still don’t know what happened to it.”
“Zamiel has been gathering it, somehow,” Omax said. “I can sense … a swell. The dragon is nearby. He has used the energy he has gathered to draw the veils between the planes wider. He int
ends to guide the Timeless as it enters this world.”
“And twist it the same way he twists everyone else,” Seren said.
“So it’ll be Marth all over again, but with the power of a god this time,” Ijaac said. “Marvelous.”
“If we’re going to do this, we all need to be together,” Tristam said. “We can still land long enough to drop off anyone who doesn’t want to fight.”
“I’m with you, Tristam,” Zed said.
“As am I,” Omax said. “We cannot allow this to happen.”
“It ends with us, Xain,” Eraina said. “I am with you.”
“I’m still your dwarf, Tristam,” Ijaac said gruffly.
“Me too,” Gerith said. “Well, not a dwarf, but you get the point.”
“Can’t fly the ship without its captain,” Pherris said with a smirk.
“I will help put this right,” Aeven promised. “The ship’s elemental wishes to see this through as well. She does not comprehend the details, but she knows Zamiel is a danger to her friends. Karia Naille only wishes there was a way to fight by your side.”
“Can’t turn back once you start, or you’ll never finish,” Seren said, attempting to smile bravely.
Tristam turned to Dalan.
“I don’t see what help I’ll be,” Dalan said quietly. He plucked the cap from his head and rubbed his eyes with one hand. “I’m just a fat old politician. I’m certainly no hero, and I’m more than a little afraid.” He looked up at Tristam, his gaze steady. “But I’m staying.”
“Good,” Tristam said, smiling broadly.
“So what’s the plan, Tristam?” Zed asked.
Tristam nodded. “If we can’t stop Zamiel, maybe we can at least use the Legacy to close the veils and shut the Timeless away from this plane forever. Omax, can you guide us where we need to go?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure that—” The warforged cocked his head suddenly. His eyes shone bright.
“Omax?” Seren said.
“Beware,” he said.
The airship shook violently with the explosive sound of shattered wood. Zed staggered against the rail, nearly falling overboard. Eraina caught his arm, steadying him.
“Pherris?” Dalan cried out. The guildmaster lay sprawled upon the deck. “What was that?”
“Something hit us,” the gnome said. He struggled with the ship’s controls. Around them, the ship’s elemental ring flickered an angry purple. “We’re losing altitude!”
“Port!” Gerith said, pointing at the sky behind the ship and to the left.
Zed looked up and immediately wished he had not. A large, reptilian beast soared through the sky away from them. Its skin was covered with coppery scales, burning brilliant red in the sunset.
Zamiel.
As the Mourning Dawn began to plummet, the dragon circled about and soared toward them once again.
TWENTY-NINE
If there was a single thing in all the world that irritated Dalan d’Cannith more than anything else, it was panic. Panic ruined the finest plans and laid the most confident individuals low. No matter how hopeless things became, he always struggled to keep a cool head. Whenever his schemes veered from his original track, he always tried to make the best of it, to fight to keep his nerve and turn failure into victory.
But now, seeing the enormous copper dragon soar toward his crippled airship, Dalan felt panic rising inside him. He huddled among the barrels stacked on the airship’s deck and clasped his hands around his head, shivering in terror.
“Tristam!” Pherris cried out. “Damage report!”
“Aye, Captain,” Tristam said, limping toward the ladder. “Dalan, help me!”
Dalan looked up at Tristam weakly. In the distance, he heard the dragon roar.
“Dalan, help me, damn it!” Tristam swore. “I may need your dragonmark!”
Zed hauled Dalan to his feet by one arm. The guildmaster mumbled apologetically as they led him to the ladder.
“Aeven, we need a storm!” Pherris cried. “Slow that beast down any way you can!”
The sky above them crackled with a sudden peal of thunder.
Dalan stumbled into the cargo bay. Tristam opened the bay hatches and leaned out. The expression on the boy’s face told the guildmaster everything he didn’t want to know.
“We’re going down,” he whispered, “aren’t we?”
Tristam glared at Dalan. “Pherris, the keel strut is barely hanging on!” he shouted. “I can’t fix it from here. We need to land!”
“Tristam, the dragon is coming back again!” Gerith shouted.
“Damn.” Tristam slammed the bay hatches closed and climbed back up the ladder.
“What do we do, Zed?” Dalan asked, looking at the inquisitive. “How do we fight something like this? We aren’t even going to make it to the Boneyard.”
“Get it together, d’Cannith,” Zed said through clenched teeth. “I know you’re not as weak as you make out.”
The inquisitive climbed up the ladder. The guildmaster stood alone in the shadowy hold, still clutching his cap in one hand. He should have remained behind. He was no use to them anymore. All his wealth, all his cunning were nothing against an enemy like this. He was only getting in the way.
“Don’t hide down here and wait to die, Dalan,” he chided himself. “That drunkard paladin is right. A Cannith is better than this.” He plucked up a sharpened pick from a stack of supplies, likely part of Ijaac’s extensive weapon collection.
Dalan climbed back on deck just in time to feel the airship bank heavily to one side, followed by another violent crash. He saw the dragon’s massive wing—big enough to eclipse half the deck—as it flew past. The airship’s elemental ring took on a red hue. A dreadful wail rose from deep inside her.
“He missed the strut that time but still got the hull,” Pherris said. The gnome’s face shone with sweat. His eyes were wide as he watched the dragon soar away. “I may still be able to crash us safely at the edge of the Boneyard, but we won’t survive another hit like that.”
“How do you crash safely?” Ijaac demanded. The dwarf clung to the ship’s rail with one hand and his morningstar with the other.
Dalan watched as the dragon soared ahead of them, moving more swiftly than their airship. The skies rumbled and churned overhead, but Aeven’s storm would not arrive quickly enough to matter. Zamiel soared about in a wide, lazy arc. He was heading back to finish them off. Though the Mourning Dawn was diving as quickly as she could without breaking apart, Dalan knew they would never reach the ground in time.
Gerith tore the lid off a barrel next to Dalan and began digging through its contents, stuffing them into a sack at his hip. He looked up at Dalan and offered him a crooked grin.
“Tell Seren good-bye for me, Dalan,” the little halfling whispered, and leapt over the rail.
“Gerith?” the Captain called out. “Where is he going?”
A moment later the little scout soared up over the ship, mounted on his glidewing. Dalan envied Snowshale; he wished he had a way to escape as well. As soon as Dalan had the thought, he dismissed it. Gerith wouldn’t abandon them now. But what was he doing?
Dalan looked down at the barrel at his feet. It was still a third full of Tristam’s alchemist fire flasks.
“What is he doing?” Eraina said, watching Gerith’s departure helplessly.
Gerith’s glidewing soared directly toward the oncoming dragon. At the last moment he turned and veered to the left, hurling his satchel at Zamiel. The sack exploded against Zamiel’s chest in a brilliant burst of flame.
The dragon faltered in its flight but did not fall. Instead it turned, chasing Gerith, falling behind them as the halfling led the dragon away.
“Gods, no, Gerith,” Pherris whispered.
“Master Snowshale has bought us time, Captain!” Dalan shouted. “Take us down, now!”
The gnome nodded and pushed the controls harder. Karia Naille’s ring roared, leaving a sizzling trail of flame as she soared toward th
e earth.
“Brace for impact!” the captain cried.
Dalan grabbed the nearest rail, still clutching his pick in one hand. He risked a glance back. He saw the dragon turn sharply in mid air. He saw Zamiel snatch something in his front claws and twist, wrenching it apart. Dalan looked away, closing his eyes tightly.
Karia Naille struck the plains with the torturous cry of torn metal and shattered wood. Dalan clutched the rail with all his strength but was still nearly thrown free. Roots grew from the wood at Aeven’s call, holding him and the others fast. For half a minute, the ship skidded and jolted, ripping a flaming gully through the grass.
At last, she came to a halt.
Dalan sat up and looked around, afraid to see what damage had been done. The Mourning Dawn had broken in half at her center. Both the struts that once held her elemental rings in place were entirely shattered. The front half of the ship was quickly catching ablaze. Dalan now sat at the edge of the shattered rear half of the ship, his feet dangling over the edge of the deck.
The roots released Dalan, dropping him to the singed grass. He staggered awkwardly to his feet as he adjusted to the unmoving ground. Turning around, he looked up in awe at the dead airship. He could see half the cargo bay split open before him, as well as the shimmering black cylinder that was the ship’s core. He knelt to take his pick from the ground, only to watch the head slide off the broken haft.
“Captain Gerriman?” Dalan called out, looking for any other survivors. “Tristam?”
Then Dalan saw the tiny, limp form of Pherris Gerriman lying on the earth between the shattered halves of the airship. He still held the ship’s wheel in one hand. Dalan ran to the old gnome’s side and knelt, pressing one hand to Pherris’s throat. The captain was alive, but only barely. His left leg was twisted badly and blood streamed from his nose.
