Flight of the Dying Sun (Heirs of Ash book 2

by Rich Wulf

  “You think there are more?” Gerith asked.

  “There are always more,” Zed said, still looking around warily. Zed grabbed Tristam’s wrist, pulling the artificer’s arm tight around his shoulders and hugging his waist. Zed lifted Tristam easily and hurried on. Gerith ran along behind, reloading his crossbow and glancing about furtively as his glidewing hopped beside him.

  “I think … I can manage,” Tristam said after a few minutes, though his voice was shaky and his breath came in gasps.

  Zed nodded, releasing Tristam to stand on his own. The artificer wobbled as he sought his balance. He limped forward with hesitant, ginger steps. Zed watched him to make certain he was not seriously hurt.

  “They way you spoke, it sounded like you’ve both fought these sorts of things before,” Tristam said.

  “Ghouls are a pretty common form of undead, as those things go,” Gerith said. “Though to tell the truth I haven’t really fought them before. One of the advantages of having Blizzard around is that I can usually just fly away.”

  Zed murmured his agreement. “Those sorts of things were more common during the War,” he said. “Packs of them used to haunt battlefields, looking for an easy meal. I’d usually get sent out with a few of the other knights to purge them.” He grimaced. “I wish we’d brought Eraina along. She could handle these things better than me.”

  Tristam gave Zed a questioning look but was interrupted by a burst of chattering teeth from the north. The trio drew their weapons and huddled together, prepared for a second attack, but the noise appeared to be getting farther away.

  “Are they running?” Tristam asked.

  “Ghouls don’t run away,” Zed said. “Ghouls don’t get scared. They’re chasing easier prey.”

  The inquisitive broke into a run, following the sound. Gerith climbed into his saddle and kicked Blizzard into the air, soaring above the maze of stone for a better view. Tristam hobbled along, feeling more flexible by the second as the ghoul’s touch faded. They turned a sharp corner and found the bodies of three ghouls on the path, charred and sizzling. Another lay nearby, a throwing axe lodged deeply in its skull. The body of a human lay near the ghoul, steam rising from the savage wounds in his throat. He wore the same uniform as the dead sailors from the scuttled ship. Zed ignored the bodies and kept running. The corpses of two more ghouls and three more sailors lay strewn about the path. Now the chattering of ghouls was joined by the startled, desperate cries of the living.

  They rounded a corner and came upon a narrow cave. Gerith waited for them at the mouth, glancing back fearfully. Four ghouls lay dead at the mouth, burnt like the others had been. Within the cave, a dozen more were advancing deeper into the tunnel, their backs to Tristam, Zed, and Gerith. They scuttled over loose stones and ice formations, seeking something deeper within. At the far end of the cave lay several more dead ghouls and as many dead sailors. An old dwarf in battered armor hefted a gleaming morningstar, casting the cave in a pallid blue light. He stood defensively over an paralyzed woman, steel eyes fixed on the ghouls without fear.

  “By the Host, there are so many of them,” Tristam whispered. “What do we do?”

  Zed looked at Tristam grimly and sheathed his sword. He snapped off the tip of an icy stalagmite and turned it over in his hands, studying the shape of it. He stepped into the cave mouth, holding the twisted plume of ice high in one hand and extending a mailed fist forward.

  “By the just glory of the Flame,” he shouted, voice echoing through the cavern, “I command thee, foul abominations, to begone from this world.”

  The chattering immediately ceased. As one, the ghouls all turned and looked back at Zed with hateful eyes. Nothing had happened.

  Tristam looked at Zed curiously.

  “Old habits,” Zed said, a bit breathless. He drew his sword. “It was worth a try.”

  The ghouls shrieked and charged in a pack, rushing toward the inquisitive. Tristam stepped in front of him, holding his wand in both hands as the tip flared brilliant white. The next few moments passed with agonizing slowness as he waited for them to reach the mouth of the tunnel, barely a few feet away, climbing over one another in their haste to be the first to escape the narrow passage. Then a cone of golden fire exploded from Tristam’s wand, filling the cave mouth, washing over the tangled mob of ghouls. An instant later, the light faded, and the undead were nothing but ash on the chill wind. An eerie silence descended with the death of the ghouls, broken a few seconds later by Gerith’s excited clapping.

  “What was that all about, Zed?” Tristam asked, looking at the inquisitive.

  “Just a distraction,” Zed mumbled. He let the twisted chunk of ice fall in the snow.

  “Balinor’s hand itself, ye are,” said the dwarf, hurrying to the cave mouth with a wide grin. He tore off his helmet and let it fall in the snow, revealing a wild mane of pure white hair. “I thought that’d be my last moment for certain.” He drove his morningstar into the ground, tore off his leather glove, and extended a thick, sweaty hand toward Tristam. “Ijaac Bruenhail, Journeyman Wayfinder. At your service and in your debt.”

  “Tristam Xain, of the Karia Naille,” Tristam said, removing his own glove and letting his hand be crushed in the dwarf’s merciless grip. “These are my friends, Zed Arthen and Gerith Snowshale.” The dwarf eagerly shook their hands as well, looking into each of their eyes with a manic, grateful intensity. Zed shook the man’s hand and walked off to the mouth of the cave to sit alone.

  “Xain,” the woman said, sitting up weakly. “I remember you.”

  “Norra,” Tristam said. He entered the cave and knelt beside her. She had a thick splint tied to one leg but didn’t seem otherwise badly injured, though it was difficult to tell through the thick furs she wore. She was Tristam’s age, but her severe expression and haughty demeanor made her appear years older. Her blond hair was tied back in a tight braid, though loose hairs now hung frayed over her face from her ordeal. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. The paralysis is temporary.”

  “I know what a ghoul does,” she snapped. “I’m no novice.”

  Tristam blinked.

  “What are you doing here, Tristam?” she demanded. “If you think I will help you steal Ashrem’s Legacy, you’re a fool.”

  “Prying us from a ghoul pack’s lunch pail from the looks of it, Norra,” Ijaac said with a hearty laugh. “We can afford to be a little civil, eh?”

  Norra frowned deeply at Ijaac, then looked back at Tristam. “Thank you,” she said with forced cheer.

  “There we are. Civil,” Ijaac said, clapping his hands together briskly. “That’s much better. I wish you’d showed up a few minutes earlier, but I can’t complain. That was a fair impressive display of magic there, lad. Now let’s get to work with the explosives.”

  Tristam coughed in surprise. “Explosives?” he asked.

  “Got any?” Ijaac asked. “You tinkers always have a few, don’t you? Norra was about to use the last of hers to bring the cave down on us before they paralyzed her. Better buried in the ice than letting those ghouls eat us, aye?”

  “I do have some explosive reagents,” Tristam admitted. “Why do you need them now?”

  “I want to drag the lads that died back into this cave and collapse it,” Ijaac said. “Doesn’t feel right leavin’ them out there for the ghouls to eat, or worse yet, shuffle back up as more undead. Closest we can come to a proper burial, given the situation.” The dwarf looked at the bodies silently, his eyes sad as he looked at his fallen friends. He quickly cleared his throat and collected himself. “I felt bad enough leaving the others behind at the wreck, but nothing to be done for it now. It was too dangerous to stay out in the open.”

  “Why do you say that?” Gerith asked.

  “On account of the dragon,” Ijaac said.

  “Dragon?” Zed said, looking back in surprise. “There’s a dragon here?”

  “Don’t tell me it didn’t give you any trouble coming in here,” Ijaac said in wonder. His eyes brig
htened. “Don’t tell me you got this far and still have a ship?”

  “Karia Naille was one of Ashrem’s airships,” Norra said. “The dragon was watching the seas. She probably never even saw them, or just couldn’t catch up.”

  Ijaac cackled. “You really have an airship, lad?”

  Tristam nodded.

  “And you’ll take us out of here?”

  “Once we finish our business here,” Tristam said.

  “I’d kiss you if you were shorter,” Ijaac said. “Now lend a hand. We’ve got a lot of bodies to move.”

  SIXTEEN

  Though he was not the sort to brag, Pherris Gerriman had seen a great deal of the world during his distinguished career. The old gnome had flown through every conceivable sort of weather. He had fought through airship battles and survived his fair share of crashes. He had explored the skies of every nation in Khorvaire as well as a fair bit of Xen’drik. He was proud of Karia Naille and her crew, and was quite confident that they could handle most any crisis that confronted them. Yet as he stared down at the skeletal face of Zul’nadn, he could not help the sense of dread growing within him. What was this place? If it was so old, so remote, and so mysterious, how did Ashrem ever learn about it? Ijaac Bruenhail’s latest news only made him even more wary.

  “A dragon?” the captain asked, looking at the dwarf dubiously. Pherris turned the ship’s wheel expertly, driving Karia Naille higher into the sky.

  “Aye, that’s what I said,” Ijaac answered. The dwarf leaned against a large crate, cupping a bowl of steaming broth between his hands. “I wouldn’t believe it myself if I’d not seen it. Tore the ship apart. Would have died with the rest of the crew if we hadn’t already been exploring on the shore. I didn’t think dragons wandered this far from Argonnessen.”

  The rest of the crew members were assembled on the deck as well, both to see the ruins and meet the survivors. Even Seren had risen from Dalan’s cabin, looking entirely rested and recovered from her injuries.

  “Why is it so surprising?” Norra Cais asked tersely. She limped about the deck on an improvised crutch Gerith had fashioned out of spare lumber. “Dragons go where they please.”

  “Encountering dragons is normal for you, Norra?” Tristam asked.

  She sighed. “Of course, not, Xain,” she said, “but Zul’nadn’s entire significance stems from the Draconic Prophecy inscribed in the caverns spread throughout its foundations. You know that—or at least I hope you do, otherwise I wonder why you would have traveled here. Dragons have traditionally expressed an interest in the Prophecy. Thus its name. I would have thought that much was obvious.”

  Seren looked at Norra calmly. “If a dragon’s presence here was so obvious,” she said, “then why did it kill your entire crew?”

  Norra glowered at Seren. “Admittedly I did not expect a dragon,” she said, “but the crew knew the risks of my mission.”

  “You didn’t say a word about dragons,” Ijaac said. “Truth be told, this trip took a wee bit deadlier of a turn than I expected, and my expectations for the Frostfell are fairly terrible. Finding this lot was the first spot of good luck since we saw the coast.” He glanced over the rail nervously. “All things considered, our situation has much improved!”

  “I’m not entirely convinced of that, Ijaac,” Norra said. She looked at Tristam coldly. “What are you doing here, Xain?”

  “Looking for the Legacy,” Tristam said. “Just like you are.”

  “Then you are a fool,” Norra said. “I’m not here looking for the Legacy.”

  “Odd place to not look for it,” Pherris said, still peering down at the enormous skull.

  “No sense in being secretive, Norra,” Ijaac said, finishing off his bowl with a slurp. “We’re in their debt. If their intentions were dishonorable, do you think they’d have taken us onto their ship?”

  “Perhaps,” Norra said, looking archly at Tristam. “Xain was always Ashrem’s worst student. He probably needs me to figure out what’s going on.”

  “That may be, but I’m just a useless old dwarf, and they just gave me the best bowl of soup I’ve had in years.” Ijaac waggled the empty bowl hopefully. Gerith scampered over and grabbed it, running back into the galley to fetch seconds, buoyed by the dwarf’s praise. “They might want to use you, but they got no need to be nice to me. So I’m of a mind to trust them.”

  “You should let me tend your injured leg, Miss Cais,” Eraina said, nodding at her splint. “I can heal that.”

  “Keep your blessings, paladin,” Norra said. “I don’t intend to be indebted to your goddess.”

  “Boldrei asks nothing in return,” Eraina said.

  “The gods only ask for nothing because, to them, we are nothing,” Norra said. “I can tend to myself.”

  “Let her limp, Eraina,” Zed said, shrugging.

  “Norra, I’m not your enemy,” Tristam said, quickly losing his patience. “Please lose the arrogance. You’re just wasting your time and mine.”

  Norra’s eyes narrowed.

  “I know you were collaborating with Kiris Overwood,” Tristam said. “You know that Marth is reassembling the Legacy. Kiris trusted him, but you didn’t. She hoped that she could help him become the hero he used to be, but you’ve always been cynical. You kept tabs on her, but you disappeared as soon as he killed Llaine. You’ve been working on a way to stop Marth, haven’t you?”

  “I don’t work on problems, Xain,” she said. “I resolve them.”

  “How?” Tristam said. “What did you hope to do here?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Xain,” she said. “I’ve failed. I can’t finish this mission with a broken leg.”

  “Then let us help you, damn it,” Tristam said. “We want to stop Marth, too.”

  She glared at him suspiciously.

  “What other hope do you really have?” Tristam asked. “We’re here. You can’t go into Zul’nadn alone. You may as well trust me.”

  “Norra,” Ijaac said. “If what you came here for was so important, give the boy a chance to help. He did save our lives.”

  She continued to glare at Tristam steadily for several moments, then sighed and reached into the satchel at her hip. She drew out a metallic silver sphere, studded with small black gems.

  “I came to the Frostfell to use this,” she said.

  “What is it?” Tristam asked, looking at it curiously.

  “Zul’nadn houses more than just the Draconic Prophecy,” Norra said. “High Priest Zoltan and his cultists came here all those millennia ago seeking something else. The ruin exists in a unique manifest zone, where the boundaries between the planes are unusually thin. The cultists came here seeking to commune with Xoriat, the Realm of Madness, but the ruins touch upon several other elemental planes as well. The connection between this world and those is embodied by an ever-burning flame in the caverns beneath the temple. It was the same source that the cultists used to summon the Fellmaw.”

  “Aye,” Ijaac said. “I seen that flame when I came here with Old Ash. He called it the Dragon’s Eye.”

  “The unique energies within that fire are critical to controlling the Legacy,” Norra said. “Without them, the resultant effect is unstable. It may last only a few seconds. It may become permanent. More commonly, its effect will be buffered or negated by strong elemental energies.”

  “Like what we saw in Stormhome,” Pherris said. “The Legacy’s effect faded over the water.”

  “Marth has used the Legacy already?” Norra said, shocked.

  “He tried to crash our ship with it,” Tristam said. “That’s why we’re here, Norra. Now what does that sphere do?”

  “It is a less powerful, but more specialized, version of the Legacy,” she said. “It is intended to feed upon the energies of the Dragon’s Eye, to draw them into a continuous feedback loop, turning the manifest zone upon itself and collapsing the boundaries between the planes.”

  “That sounds dangerous,” Tristam said.

  “It is,” Norra wh
ispered. “When cast into the Eye, the effects will be both explosive and catastrophic. Zul’nadn and much of the surrounding area will be sundered and scattered throughout the planes.”

  “How long before it takes effect?” Tristam asked.

  “A few minutes, at most,” she replied.

  “How did you intend to escape Zul’nadn after you used it?” Zed asked.

  “I did not,” Norra said.

  Ijaac looked up at Norra in surprise, soup spilling down the front of his armor. “You never told me that bit, Norra,” he said.

  “Noble sacrifices aren’t so noble when you take unwilling people with you,” Zed added, chewing on his pipe.

  “It was necessary, Ijaac,” Norra said, looking at the dwarf sadly. “You have no idea the damage that the Legacy would do to the world. If Marth can neither be reasoned with nor delayed, then the means by which he can perfect his creation must be destroyed. It is worth any sacrifice.”

  “Well if you think it’s worth killing me for, maybe you should tell me what sort of damage it would do,” Ijaac said, eyes wide with alarm.

  Norra sighed. “So much in our world relies on magic. With the Legacy, Marth could drive airships from the sky, crash lightning rails full of innocents, slay creatures of magic—such as the warforged—outright, or destroy entire cities whose buildings rely on magical architecture to remain intact—such as Sharn itself. Was that worth risking your life to stop? I say yes.”

  “And you call Master Xain Ashrem’s worst student, Miss Cais?” Pherris said, disgusted. “You intended to sacrifice every one of those men who came with you, and already killed all of them but one.”

  Norra ignored the gnome. “I had no alternative, Xain,” she said. “Believe me, I searched for one.”

  “I should have listened to my brother,” Ijaac grumbled. “He said you were trouble, Norra.”

  “Give the sphere to me,” Tristam said, extending his hand. “I’ll enter Zul’nadn and destroy the Eye.”