by Rich Wulf
“Infuriating man,” Eraina said, returning to the bow of the ship.
Zed chuckled and strolled off to help Omax with the ship’s maintenance. Gerith disappeared into the galley. Tristam stared at the hatch of Dalan’s cabin for nearly a minute, then headed below deck, mumbling something about Kiris’s journals. Seren started to follow him, but stopped. She moved to Dalan’s cabin, knocking quietly on the hatch.
“Enter,” said Dalan’s voice.
She slid the hatch open a crack and slipped inside. Dalan sat on his cot, a book open in his lap. Gunther lay at the foot of the bed, nose nestled between his shaggy paws. His tail thumped the cot in recognition.
“Seren,” Dalan said, looking up over his reading glasses. “What can I do for you?”
“Was Jamus Roland really your friend?” she asked softly.
“A complex question,” Dalan said. “As I have told you before, the term ‘friend’ is not one that I value. It is bandied about too easily. A man who calls himself a friend might draw his sword against you if it serves his purposes tomorrow, particularly during the Last War. We were spies, Seren. Such men do not give or accept trust easily. Yet I trusted Jamus Roland. I fought beside him, and we saved one another’s lives on a few occasions.” Dalan laughed. “What’s more, I even liked him. I can count the people I have ever truly liked on less than one hand. So if that is what you call a friend, then yes, he was my friend.”
Seren hugged her arms against her chest, chewing over a thought for several moments before speaking. “Is that why you really kept me here, then?” she asked. “Because I knew Jamus and you felt sorry for me?”
“Haha, no,” Dalan said. “That would have been my motivation when I quietly arranged for you to be transported home to Ringbriar with a small sum of money, as I initially planned. I was a great deal more pleased when you proved to be indispensable. I find it comforting to have Jamus’ apprentice with us. It is as if he is here, in a way, though you smell a great deal nicer than he did.”
Seren laughed. “So you fought beside Jamus?” she asked.
“A few times, yes,” Dalan said. “I was never much of a warrior, but that man was deadly with a dagger.”
Seren nodded. “So you’ve seen him fight.”
“What are you getting at, Seren?” he asked warily.
“The other thing I wanted to talk to you about,” she said. “Jamus taught me to fight. I’m not the sort to brag, but he always said I was a talented student—as good as he was in his time.”
“How nice for you,” Dalan said, looking slightly confused. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“Nothing, I just wanted you to know,” she said.
“Why?” he asked, sensing more.
Seren shrugged. “Because I know Eraina’s ability to detect lies isn’t infallible, and that if anyone is adept at dancing around the truth, it’s you. I just hope you’re telling Tristam everything. For your sake.” Seren looked at him coldly. “If you hurt Tristam, you won’t see me coming.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dalan said, his voice breaking a little.
“Enjoy your book.” Seren said. She smiled brightly and left the cabin.
Dalan stared at the hatch for a good, long time.
THREE
Karrnath is your homeland, isn’t it, Eraina?” Zed asked as she joined him at the rail.
The paladin nodded, looking down at the approaching town of Vulyar with a solemn expression.
“What can you tell me about this town?” he asked.
“There’s very little to tell,” she said. “Just another town. Peaceful. Never saw a lot of battle. Invaders usually stop at Fort Bones to the southwest, so Vulyar escaped the Last War virtually unscathed. It is a boring place, unless you’re a merchant, but sometimes ‘boring’ can be a godsend.”
“Fort Bones?” Pherris asked, looking at her curiously. “What a dreadful name. Why would someone give that sort of name to a place?”
“It’s something of a legend of the Last War,” she said. “The fort was razed after a surprise attack, but the Karrns rallied and won the day. They had to rebuild, and quickly. So they used the bones of their enemies to fortify the walls.”
Pherris gave her an incredulous look. “Bone hardly seems the hardiest of building materials,” he said.
“The Karrnathi military relies heavily on necromancy,” Eraina said grimly. “I can’t say that I approve, but death magic has quite efficiently protected our people for generations. The fortifications worked surprisingly well, and the improvised defenses held off all attacks until reinforcements arrived and the enemy departed, seeking easier pickings. Since then, it has become tradition. Any time the fort is attacked, the bones of any slain enemies are added to its defenses.”
“A grim sort of folktale,” Pherris said.
“It’s no folktale,” Eraina said. “It is a true story. The Karrn are a fierce, stubborn, and unforgiving people. We are prone to making dramatic examples of our enemies, so that others will be loath to challenge us. I find it barbaric, but it is our way.”
“What you call barbaric I find admirable,” Dalan said as he emerged from his cabin. His face was still faintly bruised, but he wore a freshly pressed black suit and appeared entirely refreshed from his ordeal. “Dramatic examples defeat future enemies before a battle even begins. It is an extraordinarily humane way to conduct a nation’s defense. Those bones, after all, weren’t being put to any other use.”
Eraina looked at Dalan and sighed.
“Pherris,” Dalan continued, ignoring the paladin, “please pull in as close as you can to the village. The lightning rail station may have a proper sky tower of some sort. Eraina, if you would be so kind, I request your presence. The locals will react suspiciously to an unexpected foreign airship docking in their town. The presence of a countryman, especially one who bears the mark of the Hearthmother, may ease my attempts at diplomacy.”
“Of course,” she said, eyeing Dalan with her usual caution.
“And Tristam?” Dalan peered about, seeing no sign of the artificer. He sighed. “If anyone sees Master Xain, tell him to perform only the minimum labor necessary so that we might travel on to Korth safely. I can arrange the rest of the repairs there for lesser expense. The merchants of Vulyar are accustomed to charging inflated prices to their curious halfling visitors, and I would prefer to avoid their greed. In the meantime, I have business in Korth that can be attended while the ship is repaired there.”
“Eager to check in with Baron Zorlan?” Zed said.
Dalan nodded gravely.
“You plan to face the master of your own House, Dalan?” Eraina asked.
Dalan snorted.
“Zorlan is not the master of House Cannith,” Dalan said. “The Cannith patriarch died on the Day of Mourning. Since then, the leadership of my House has been split by petty political squabbles. I respect all of the so-called lords of my House but acknowledge none of them.”
“Petty politics, in your family?” Zed asked dryly.
“Surprising, I know,” Dalan said. “Zorlan is one of the leading contenders for leadership, but he holds no authority over me. If I were to acknowledge any Cannith as the new patriarch, it would be Baron Merrix.”
“Assuming you didn’t just make a bid for control yourself,” Zed said.
Dalan laughed lightly. “Politics can be unpredictable,” he said. “But my own ambitions are not our concern. If what the Ghost Talons told us is true, Zorlan d’Cannith—or, more likely, someone claiming his authority—knows a great deal more about Marth’s activities than he ever divulged. Our own progress, such as it is, is also likely known to them. I despise being kept in the dark. I intend to discover if I have been manipulated by my superiors.” He sneered at Zed. “You may now make some biting comment regarding the irony of this moment. I am waiting.”
Zed only smiled. “I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said. “I’m just wondering how you’re going to handle the baron. He’s not a
kind man, if rumor serves.”
“I shall handle him as I handle all my affairs,” Dalan said. “Cautiously and indirectly.”
“Riders incoming,” Pherris said, pointing at the city gates. The Karia Naille slowed to a smooth hover above the Vulyar lightning rail station. A squad of mounted horsemen in grim black armor were already galloping toward the sky tower.
“Why is it every time we go somewhere new, we’re always met by armed guards?” Dalan mused.
“Unmarked airships do not inspire trust,” Eraina said. “Why do you fly your ship with no marks of nation or house, d’Cannith? You must admit it looks terribly suspicious.”
“Because of the weight such colors carry,” he said, stepping to the edge of the deck as Omax secured the ship to the tower. “All nations have enemies, as do all Houses. Even worse, they all have allies—allies who may presume that I have come to aid them, or who would seek to ingratiate themselves to us. I haven’t the time for such nonsense.”
“You would prefer to appear suspicious to everyone you meet?”
“Quite so,” Dalan said. “I can deal with suspicion. It can almost invariably be allayed via diplomacy or bribery. At the very least I always know where I stand.”
Dalan stepped onto the tower bridge and climbed down the stairs. Eraina followed. Dalan smoothed one hand over the breast of his suit as he stepped out onto the street. The riders surrounded them. They held crossbows at the ready, half of them keeping a wary eye on the hovering airship.
“Speak your name and business,” the captain demanded.
“We are here on an official investigation on behalf of the Sentinel Marshals,” Eraina said, emerging beside Dalan. She snapped open a metal case, displaying her official seal. “We wish to purchase supplies so that we can repair our vessel and continue on to Korth.”
The captain stared at the seal for nearly a minute, with the air of a man who isn’t quite sure if he’s looking at an official document, and doesn’t know if it’s worth making a fuss about. “Marshal Eraina Deneith, eh?”
“My commanding officer is Marshal Kirin Galas, currently stationed in Korth,” she said. “You may contact him for verification.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” the captain said with a bored sigh. He peered up at the airship again, studying the vehicle cautiously. “As long as you move on quickly.”
“Expediency is our primary goal, I assure you of that, Captain,” Dalan said smoothly. “Now, if I might trouble you, could you please point me in the direction of a local carpenter or lumber mill? I wish to make a few substantial purchases.” He dug into his jacket pocket. “If it helps, I have a precisely detailed list …”
Dalan strode away with the captain in tow, grinning broadly as he discussed business. Eraina remained behind, noting that two of the Karrnathi soldiers remained behind at a respectful distance, watching the ship.
“That was unexpected,” said a gruff voice. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Eraina.”
Eraina glanced back as Zed Arthen stepped out of the tower beside her. He was wearing his long, shabby coat but had left his sword behind. He clenched a thin pipe between his teeth, drifting a plume of smoke over one shoulder.
“What are you talking about, Arthen?” she asked stiffly.
“Your vow of honesty,” he said, keeping his voice soft enough that the remaining soldiers would not hear. He nodded at them amiably.
Eraina glared at him coldly.
“Oh you didn’t lie, sure,” he said, “but you didn’t tell them the whole truth, either. I thought your vows were a little less flexible than that.”
“I told them precisely what they needed to know, and no more,” she said. “Do not question my dedication to my goddess.”
“A hair is a fine thing to split,” Zed said, “but it gets easier with practice. Be careful, Eraina.”
“Or what?” she said with a bitter laugh. “Am I to endure lessons in maintaining my vows from a knight who could not uphold his own?”
“Why not?” he asked, spitting a puff of smoke at her. “Nobody knows the way down better than me.” He straightened his heavy coat over his shoulders and headed off into the city.
Eraina glared after him for a long time, then started down the road leading out of the rail station. She kept her distance behind him, looking pointedly away when he glanced back. Zed stopped and looked back, waiting for her. She moved toward the far side of the road and kept walking.
“I going into town on purely personal business, Arthen,” she said. “I do not require your company.”
“We’re both going into town, Eraina,” Zed said, limping quickly after her. “We may as well walk together.”
“Go with one of the others,” Eraina said. “I have no desire for your company.”
“Nobody else is going but you and me,” he said. “Pherris is too tired. Gerith is still depressed about the Ghost Talon massacre. Tristam is studying Kiris’s journals, so that means Seren isn’t wandering too far away either. Omax knows better.”
“Knows better?” she asked archly.
“Your people treat his like slaves,” Zed said. “Omax could pretend that he belongs to Tristam, but he’d still get treated like a mindless machine here. Karrnath isn’t a place where a free warforged feels welcome.”
Eraina grimaced uncomfortably. “The law stands for a reason,” she said. “Not all warforged are as kind and contemplative as Omax. Karrnath endured many injuries at the hands of warforged soldiers. Many believe that they are better off kept in check.”
“Do you believe that?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I believe they would not have been given life without purpose, and to ignore such a miracle is to squander that purpose. The gods smile upon the warforged, even if they did not create them. Yet I serve the law.”
Zed chuckled. “You do a good job of juggling all of that ridiculous dogma and still coming out of it a decent person, but I don’t envy you one bit, Marshal.”
“The others remained behind,” she said, changing the subject. “But you did not. What business do you have here?”
“Nothing in particular. I couldn’t stand it in that ship any longer.” Zed looked up at Vulyar’s rough walls, removing the pipe from his mouth for a moment. “I need to be around people. Find a tavern, restaurant, someplace to just sit for the night.”
“Odd,” she said. “You don’t seem like a particularly social person.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I can’t stand talking to people, but I like to watch them, listen to them, to figure out what makes them think the way they do—but from a distance.” He tapped his temple. “I like to get into their heads. It’s strange, but hey, you asked.”
“No, I understand,” she said. “I sometimes find myself doing the same thing. It sharpens one’s investigative skills.”
“That’s part of it, sure,” he said, nodding rapidly and popping the pipe back into his mouth. “You can’t do that on a little ship like Karia Naille. Everyone knows each other. Everyone’s too easy to read. Except Dalan, and he’s too much trouble.”
“True,” Eraina said with a small laugh.
“And you,” Zed said. “I don’t quite have a handle on you, yet.”
She looked at him. “Why do you require a handle on me?”
“I reckon I don’t,” he said. “I just like knowing which way people are likely to swing when trouble hits, and with you I really can’t tell. One day you’re threatening to muster allies and bring the law down on us, the next day you’re cleaning out the cargo bay and healing our wounds.”
“What is your point?” she asked.
“I’ve known more than my share of paladins, Marshal,” Zed said. “You’re a fair shade more complex than most of them, to put it gently. Most of them are a lot more blunt. They see evil, they smite it. They see a foe, they pursue. You’re a lot more subtle. Flexible.”
“Faith is not a symptom of ignorance, Arthen,” she said. “A mortal can champion
the gods without setting her brain aside.”
“Fair enough,” he said, “but to be fair, faith and ignorance are usually bunkmates, even if they’re unrelated. You may be the exception, Marshal. Like I said—I don’t envy you.”
She laughed. “Because I am a paladin, but I am no fool?”
“Maybe,” he said. “You remind me too much of myself.”
They walked deeper into the sleeping city. Though Vulyar was a center of commerce between Karrnath and the Talenta Plains, few of the locals were abroad in the streets. It was too early and too hot to be working. Those who were about took the time to pause and stare at the two strangers who had entered the city. They cast nervous looks at Zed but seemed reassured by Eraina’s presence. One man even whispered a brief prayer to Boldrei before hurrying away. Zed watched the man go, a sad, bitter look in his eyes. Then it all made sense.
Eraina looked at Zed intently. “You were not merely a Knight of Thrane, were you?” she asked. “You were touched by the Flame. You were a paladin.”
“I never said anything like that,” he said.
“But you were,” she said. “Weren’t you?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, scowling at her.
“Yes or no,” she said. “That’s all you need to say.”
“Why, so you can tell if I’m lying?” Zed said. “You need to drop this, Eraina. Is that clear? It’s not something I like to talk about.”
Eraina looked away. “Fine,” she said softly. “Then let us speak of something else.”
“How about something useful, then?” he asked. “We’re both investigators. Why don’t we try to figure out how Marth keeps following us?”
“He can’t follow us now,” she said. “His flagship is demolished.”
“Until he repairs the Seventh Moon, you mean,” Zed said. “Tristam is sure that’s only a matter of time. So let’s use the breather we have to figure out what’s going on. Ever since Wroat, Marth has known where the Karia Naille was going to be as soon as we did. We still don’t know how.”
