A trio of skeletons broke off from the others and grabbed at her from all angles. Their sharp fingers, uncushioned by flesh, snatched at her and pulled her up off her feet. As she struggled, caught in their many grasps like a fly in a spider’s web, they hauled her over to the doorway and followed Ibrido through.
Once beyond the iron slab, Esprë fell silent. The air in the massive cavern felt oppressive, thick and cloying, stinking with the rot of the swamp, the grave. It filled her lungs and quieted her voice with a paralyzing sense of menace.
The young elf stopped struggling against the skeletons that carried her, and at a signal from Ibrido they set her back down on her feet. She landed in more of the frigid, pitch-black water, this time reaching up past her knees. She shivered, but not from the cold.
She realized she still clutched the everburning torch, and she held it up high in the air over her, peering out into the distance, looking for some sign of whatever it was that had made that terrifying roar.
The torch seemed small and insignificant against the darkness surrounding her. Esprë had never wanted her mother more in her life than at that moment. If she couldn’t have her—and she knew, in the deepest recesses of her heart, that it was impossible—then Kandler would do. Where was he? she wondered.
Te’oma had told her that they pursued her in the refurbished Phoenix, but could she trust a thing the changeling told her? For all she knew, Te’oma was still in league with Ibrido, off someplace else on another mission of evil, just using her telepathy to give the young elf enough hope that she wouldn’t take her own life in a brave attempt to put an end to all the horrible plots that swirled around her.
Something foul, like the stench of a latrine, assaulted Esprë’s nostrils. Staring out across the water to the limits of the torch’s light, she saw bubbles bursting on the black surface. She wrinkled her nose at the swamp gases that something below had stirred up.
Then the waters in front of her erupted, splashing forward and drenching her from head to toe. Standing there, shuddering in the icy waters, she looked up and saw a pair of orangish eyes glowing down at her from the darkness, each of them larger than a pumpkin. Then a set of teeth, each of which was half as long as Esprë and set in a monstrous, black-scaled snout, slipped forward from the gloom. From behind them, a low, loud laugh rumbled, and somewhere in the darkness she heard the flapping of wet, leathery wings.
The sounds shattered Esprë’s trance of fear. She threw back her head and screamed.
Kandler knew Burch would be the first to spot Keeper’s Claw. The shifter had been peering out at the horizon for hours, scanning every spot in the distance in the hopes of somehow finding the airship. With his keen vision, he had the best chance of spying it of anyone, so he kept at it no matter how tired his eyes might get from staring into the midday sun.
From what Te’oma had relayed from Esprë, they knew it would be somewhere along the front range of the Ironroot Mountains, in a portion traditionally occupied by Clan Drakyager. This meant little to Kandler, who couldn’t keep track of the various clans of the Mror Holds without a diagram, but Burch knew who they were. Monja did too, although she’d never met any of them in person before.
From what Burch and Monja had said, the Drakyager dwarves were a solitary lot, bitter about their fall from power so many centuries ago. Still, they were determined to live up to their hereditary duties, which included trying to reclaim their ancient homeland deep within the mountains and to protect the rest of the clans of the Iron Council from an ancient and evil dragon that had set up housekeeping far beneath their homes so long ago.
“Yeah,” Burch had said, “they made some kind of deal with the dragon, believe it or not—a black one, scales darker than its soul. They kept him fed and protected, and he left them alone. Course, that didn’t stop the orcs from killing most of them a while back.”
“No one cried a tear for them,” Monja had said. “A dragon like that doesn’t get by on munching potatoes and carrots, after all.”
“What happened to the dragon after Clan Drakyager got run off, then?” Kandler had asked.
Burch had shrugged. “Dragons can go a long time without eating much,” he’d said. “They just get hungrier and hungrier.”
“And when they can’t take it any more?” Sallah had asked.
Monja had frowned. “I’ve never heard of a dragon dying from starvation.”
When Burch spotted the Keeper’s Claw right along the mountains under which the dragon supposedly lived, Kandler’s heart pumped with a mixture of hope and dread. His daughter had to be around here somewhere, but a hungry dragon might be there too.
“There it is, boss,” Burch said, pointing at a twinkling bit of orange glowing partway up a mountain. “Ready and waiting for us.”
Kandler slapped his friend on the back in thanks and jogged back along the deck to talk with Sallah on the bridge. The lady knight had done most of the flying since they’d left Fort Bones. Phoenix seemed to respond to her well. She was a natural pilot, almost as talented as Esprë, who’d surprised Kandler with her easy command of the airship.
“Found something?” Sallah asked, a tentative smile on her lips.
Kandler nodded and pointed at the tiny light that Burch had found. “That’s either the airship or the biggest bonfire I’ve ever seen. Either way, we need to check it out. Take her up high. Try to mask our approach by keeping the sun directly behind us.”
“Aye, captain,” Sallah said with a grin. Although the wheel in her hands didn’t move—couldn’t move, in fact—the ship tilted in the direction Kandler had pointed, and it picked up momentum. “Full speed ahead.”
Kandler squinted at her. “ ‘Aye, captain?’ ”
“I’ve always wanted to say that. Thrane doesn’t border any seas—we have rivers, lakes, and sounds, but mostly I stayed off them, so I never really had a chance.”
“Ever?”
“Not before now.”
Kandler leaned in and kissed the lady knight on the cheek. He could have sworn she blushed at the attention, but it could have just been the wind on her face.
He wondered why Sallah had pulled away from him when they were in the Mournland but was willing to accept his affections now. Did she think he’d finally gotten over his love for Esprina?
As much as Kandler felt himself starting to care for Sallah, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to ignore his feelings about Esprina, no matter how long gone she might be. He and Burch had buried her in that grave in the Mournland, but his love for her couldn’t be covered up so easily. He didn’t think he could ever give it all up. It was too much a part of who he was.
“What are we going to do when we catch up to Keeper’s Claw?” Xalt asked.
The warforged had stood at the back of the bridge so quietly that Kandler had forgotten he was there. He wondered if warforged could shut themselves off and turn themselves back on at will. He’d never seen another living creature stay so still for so long.
“We’ll attack and bring them down,” he said.
“A Karrnathi warship with a full contingent of skeletal soldiers? Do you think that’s possible?”
“Do you have another plan?”
“Suicide is not a plan.”
The fact that Xalt valued his artificial life just as much as anyone else—perhaps more, it seemed—struck Kandler hard. The warforged had a point. Dying in the attempt to rescue Esprë wouldn’t help her.
Kandler knew from the start of all this that he’d be willing to do anything for his daughter, even die for her, if it meant she would be safe and free. The others, though, might not have that blind, unconditional love for the young elf. Burch did, Kandler thought. The shifter had been his best friend for so long—before he’d met Esprina, even. Since the beautiful elf’s death, Burch had been even more than just a friend. He’d become a part of Kandler and Esprë’s family, sometimes as much of a father to the young elf as he’d been, especially in those early months after Esprë’s mother’s death.
Kandler hadn’t been much use to anyone in those days, and Burch had watched over Esprë until the justicar could stand to get back into the world again.
Sallah had her orders. The Keeper of the Flame herself had charged the lady knight with finding the bearer of the Lost Mark. She’d lost so much on this journey already that she could never turn back now. The ghosts of her father and her other fellow knights pushed her on, more than any growing affection for Kandler could, he knew.
Xalt and Monja, though, didn’t have the pressing need of the others to be here. Kandler didn’t know why they’d follow him into what could be a quick but terrifying death. What drove them on?
Kandler put his hand on the warforged’s shoulder. “If you don’t want to go through with this, I understand,” he said. “You’ve already done more for us than you had to.”
He looked over at Monja, who climbed up on to the bridge at that moment to learn the news Kandler had brought from Burch. She’d been watching the changeling, but her curiosity seemed to have gotten the better of her.
Xalt stepped back, forcing Kandler’s hand from his shoulder, and the warforged’s jaw dropped. “You think I want out of this now?” he asked. “You think I am a coward who would abandon friends in the time of their greatest need? I didn’t have to do any of this.”
Kandler flushed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I—I don’t want to force you into risking your life for my daughter.” He looked down at the halfling shaman. “The same goes for you. If you like, we’ll drop you off here. If we survive, we’ll come back for you. Otherwise, I’m sure you can find your way home.”
The halfling shaman furrowed her brow at the justicar, then crooked her finger for him to come lower so she could speak to him directly. He knelt in front of her, and she reached out and took his face in her small, childlike hands—smaller, even, than Esprë’s.
“Don’t be a fool,” she said. She glanced up at Xalt and then stared long and hard into Kandler’s eyes. “You insult us both with your offer.”
She smiled at him then. “I’m not here for you,” she said. “I’m here for your daughter. It’s more than repaying my debt to Burch. He saved my life once, but not because he owed me anything—just because it was the right thing to do.”
Kandler felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked to see it belonged to Xalt—the one missing the thick finger the warforged had lost saving Kandler and his friends once before.
“This …” Xalt said. “Saving Esprë is the right thing to do.”
Kandler nodded and stood, a grim look on his face as he stared at them both.
“Damn you two for being right.”
Burch stepped up on to the bridge then. “I don’t think she’s on the ship, boss,” he said.
Kandler spun on the shifter. “How’s that?”
Burch pointed back at Keeper’s Claw, toward which they zoomed with amazing speed. “There’s only a few skeletons left there, and they’re not moving. They’re waiting for something.”
“Like for Ibrido to return,” Kandler said.
He leaped over the bridge’s railing and landed next to Te’oma. The changeling stood there, still chained to the deck by her neck and wrists, staring out at the ship they approached.
“She’s in danger,” Te’oma said.
“How long have you known?” Kandler grabbed the chain that led to her collar and rattled it. “How long?”
“Does it matter?” she said, her head bowed. “She’s beyond our help now.”
Kandler reached up and yanked back the changeling’s head by the back of her collar. He snarled at her, his face close enough to hers that he could have bitten her nose off. “What does that mean?”
He noticed then that Te’oma had been crying. His heart fell down past his toes and tumbled through the airship toward the ground far below.
“What does that mean?” he hissed.
“She’s still … alive,” the changeling said, choking on the collar as she spoke.
Kandler released her, and she fell forward on her knees, tugging the collar from around her throat. “She’s in the mountain. Ibrido is taking her down to present her to his master.”
“Why?” Kandler asked. Stories of dragons devouring young virgins roiled through his head.
“I don’t know,” Te’oma said, glaring up at him. “If Esprë can’t figure it out, how should I?”
Kandler growled down at the changeling. “You’re the telepath around here.”
“All I know is what Esprë tells me,” she said, tears streaming down her face again. Kandler couldn’t tell if they were in rage against him or for some more horrible reason.
Kandler tried to calm himself. “What does she tell you now?” he asked. “What’s happening to her?”
Te’oma stared up at the justicar, weeping openly now, her mouth twisted into a grimace of grief and fear. “ ‘It’s coming,’ is all she can say right now. ‘It’s coming! It’s coming! It’s coming!’ ”
The changeling let loose a skull-rattling shriek. “Oh, no!” she said. “No, no, no, no, no.” Her voice was barely more than a murmur now, and Kandler had to strain to hear her words.
“No,” Te’oma said, her voice as raw as an open wound. “It’s here.”
The skeletons crewing Keeper’s Claw never had a chance. One moment they were scattered about the deck of the Karrnathi airship like macabre statues, waiting for their master to return to activate them once more, and the next instant three warriors dropped into their midst from the sky.
Duro Darumnakt had been watching the airship with a few of his fellows when they saw the Phoenix soar down from out of the sun—which the undead creatures seemed to hate looking anywhere near—plummeting like a ship of that size should, instead of being suspended in the air by an unholy ring of fire. It managed to catch itself scant yards above Keeper’s Claw, and that’s when the three slid down at them on ropes cast over the smaller airship’s gunwales.
The first of them bore a longsword that sliced through the Karrnathi armor as easily as it parted the air. A tall man—human, for sure, Duro decided—with short, brown hair, he carved his way through the creatures with a trained soldier’s ease. This was a man who had seen many a battle and walked away triumphant from them all.
The second one down was a woman, another human, but like none that Duro had ever seen. She wore a crimson tabard embroidered with a blazing silver flame over a gleaming breastplate and mail made of polished chains, thin but tough, worked together in the manner Duro’s ancestors had perfected centuries ago. Her sword burned with tongues of fire the same unnatural silver color of the emblem on her tabard.
The fire-haired woman struck left and right at first, then presented her sword before her and shouted, “By the light of the Silver Flame, you shall not stand!”
The skeletons nearest her turned and fled, spilling over the gunwales of the ship and shattering on the rocks below. One of them tried to get up and flee on its splintered leg bones, but it gave up after a moment and fell into its component parts.
The third warrior, a shifter from the look of him, slid only halfway down the rope hanging from the second airship. Wrapping himself in the rope, he then started loosing bolts from his crossbow at the rest of the skeletons chasing about after the other two invaders. Some of his bolts clanged off the Karrnathi armor, but one knocked a helmeted skull right off its owner’s shoulders. Another smashed apart a skeleton’s elbow just as it was about to bring its scimitar down on the man’s back.
“What’s happening?” Kallo asked from behind him as he peered over Duro’s shoulder.
“Get down,” Duro said, shoving the young dwarf back.
Though he had barely come of age, Kallo itched to get his axe involved in a real fight. He’d notched it on one of the Karrnathi skeletons they’d fought earlier that day, but since such creatures didn’t bleed he’d technically not yet been blooded. Duro knew the difference was small but that it gnawed at the eager, young dwarf, making him less cautious than he perh
aps should be.
“I don’t know what’s happening yet,” Duro said, scolding Kallo. “If you’d keep your trap shut, I might be able to figure it out.”
“Seems obvious to me,” Kallo said, thumbing the edge of his axe. “Big people who hate the skeletons are kicking them to pieces. We wait until the fight is over and then kill the survivors.”
Duro smacked Kallo on the back of the head, then grinned at him. “You are an idiot,” he said, “but sometimes even you come up with a fine idea. Spread the word to the others. As soon as the big people come down off that airship, we strike.”
“What makes you think they’ll come down?” Kallo asked, rubbing the back of his head.
“They’re here for the same reason the others came,” Duro said. “Why else would we see two airships in a place that hasn’t had a visitor in over a decade?
“Now do as I order. Go!”
“Everyone all right?” Kandler asked after he hacked the last of the Karrnathi skeletons to bits. It had been cowering behind the bridge, unable to bring itself to face Sallah’s blade. The justicar had made quick work of it, putting an end to its troubles.
A man—someone Kandler had never seen before—stood slumped over the ship’s wheel, his arms still chained to it. The justicar poked the emaciated sailor with the tip of his sword and provoked no reaction.
“I’m fine,” Sallah said, calling over from the gunwale, where she’d been making sure that the creatures she’d chased overboard weren’t somehow crawling back up to greet them.
“Fine, boss.” Burch slid down the rest of the way on the rope and went about collecting any unbroken bolts he could find. Kandler admired the shifter’s economy. Here, a long way from the nearest village, getting your hands on a decent supply of bolts would be tricky. Better to keep hold of the ones you had as long as you could.
Kandler inspected a small cut on his left forearm. One of the skeletons had slashed at him there, and he’d been too busy defending himself against another to move out of the way. The wound bled freely between the fingers he used to grasp it. He cursed himself for being so careless. They could ill afford for him to be injured right now. Esprë was depending on him.
The Road to Death: The Lost Mark, Book 2 Page 24
