Flight of the Dying Sun (Heirs of Ash book 2 Read online

“Good luck, Xain,” he said.

  “Good luck, all of you,” Tristam answered, splitting off with Seren to attend to their share of this mission.

  A Cyran soldier stepped around the corner and opened his mouth in alarm, but fell silent as a backhand slap from Omax sent him crashing limp into the wall. Zed allowed himself a little smile. It was good to be fighting beside people he didn’t have to worry about, and both Omax and Eraina could take care of themselves. Zed charged past the warforged, surveying the path ahead. Chaos had utterly consumed the Moon’s deck. Cyran mercenaries and halfling warriors grappled in combat as the storm rains scoured the deck. The Cyrans rallied one another, shouting the name of their lost homeland. The halflings screamed in frenzied rage, slashing and clawing at the men who had murdered their tribe. Zed watched as a Ghost Talon berserker tackled a Cyran warrior, dragging them both over the rail to plummet into the void. There was truly no enemy more fearsome than those with nothing left to lose—and both the Cyrans and the halflings fell into that category.

  The time for watching was done. There was no more hesitation. Instinct fired Zed’s movements. He charged into the battle, thick blade hewing down a Cyran mercenary. The warforged fought beside him, moving with surprising grace for a creature sculpted of dense metal and enchanted wood. He heard Eraina’s smooth voice rising in prayer to her goddess. A wave of dizziness washed through Zed’s mind, followed by a surge of renewed strength as the Hearthmother’s divine magic flowed into him.

  “I don’t need Boldrei’s help, Eraina,” Zed snapped.

  “But she needs ours,” the paladin answered. “Accept her blessings with grace, and we will triumph.”

  “If your goddess wants a champion, I’m hardly the best choice,” he said, parrying another mercenary’s sword and kicking the man away across the slippery deck.

  “How can such a brave man have so little faith?” Eraina said.

  “Ask Boldrei,” Zed said with a scowl. “Which way do we go, Omax?”

  Omax pointed at the hatch at the far side of the deck. A half dozen Cyrans stood in a tight group in front of it, watching the fight but not moving from their post.

  “Dalan will most likely be held there,” the warforged said.

  An annoyed sneer creased Zed’s weathered features. He had hoped the confusion would leave Dalan’s cabin lightly guarded, but at least some of Marth’s soldiers were not fools. The Ghost Talons wouldn’t be much help. Zed couldn’t speak their language and they might not even listen if he could. The halflings didn’t care about Dalan d’Cannith. They just wanted to hurt Marth’s soldiers as much as possible.

  “We need a distraction,” Zed said in a low voice. “Wait here out of sight. They probably won’t all chase me, but you should be able to handle whatever’s left. Don’t wait for me. Just grab Dalan and run.”

  “You will not survive,” Omax said.

  “Probably not,” Zed said, hefting his sword and preparing to charge. “I’ll think of something.”

  Eraina opened her mouth to argue, but no words came. Omax turned and seized one of the huge crates lashed to the deck, lifted it with the sound of snapping ropes, and hurled it past Zed into the group of guards.

  “They are distracted now,” the warforged said.

  Omax released a savage metal roar and ran headlong into the scattering mercenaries. Two had already collapsed from the warforged’s improvised missile. A third fell when Omax’s heavy fists clapped together over his helmet. Sparks erupted as the others slashed at the warforged with their swords. Omax staggered beneath their attacks but did not fall. Zed rushed in beside him, cutting down one of the remaining soldiers and parrying an attack from another. Eraina was there as well, burying her spear in another soldier.

  The last man glared at them, eyes narrowed in hate. “You d’Cannith pawns,” he said, sneering as he gripped his sword in both hands. “All we want to do is save our homeland. What do you fight for? Gold?”

  “No,” Zed said, batting the man’s weapon away and clubbing him heavily across the face with the pommel of his sword. The soldier stumbled drunkenly. “Right now I’m just fighting to get you out of my way, but I like to keep things simple.” Zed punched the dazed soldier in the throat and pushed him aside.

  “Dalan?” Omax called out, shoving through the dead and unconscious enemies into the room beyond. The warforged’s shimmering eyes illuminated the dark room with pale blue light. Dalan d’Cannith sat cross-legged on the floor. The fat guild master’s fine robes were now torn and stained with blood and soot. His face was bruised. His eyes were rimmed with exhaustion. He looked up at them with exaggerated calm, as if unaware of his own pathetic state.

  “A rescue?” he asked in a bored voice. “What were you thinking, Arthen? Whose ludicrous idea was this? Xain?”

  “It has all the earmarks, doesn’t it?” Zed replied. “Now get up. We’re getting out of here.”

  “You should have left me,” Dalan said, trembling as Omax pulled him to his feet.

  “I agree,” Zed said. “You’re not worth it. But Tristam really wants to talk to you, and I kind of want to see how that turns out.”

  “Do you need healing?” Eraina asked, extending a hand toward Dalan’s bruised face.

  “Nothing urgent,” Dalan said, brushing her hand away. “Save your goddess’s favor. We may still need miracles.”

  A hideous roar erupted from somewhere deep within the Moon. Sparks of red flame shone between the floorboards, and the entire vessel shuddered.

  “Such as that, whatever that new catastrophe was,” Dalan said bleakly. “Xain is sabotaging the ship, isn’t he?”

  “Maybe,” Zed said with a nervous cough.

  Omax cocked his head. “The ship’s elemental has been freed from its bindings,” he whispered. “The Moon will not survive long.”

  “Tristam was supposed to banish it back to its own world, not release it into ours,” Eraina said.

  “Typical,” Dalan said with a sigh.

  “They get angry when they break loose,” Zed said. “We’d better get out of here before that thing kills us all.”

  “I am too weak to run,” Dalan said. “Leave me.”

  Zed nodded at Omax.

  The warforged reached out without another word, grabbing Dalan by the collar and tucking him limply under one arm. Zed ran back out onto the deck, searching the sky for the familiar green flaming ring. He saw her now, the Karia Naille, below and to the left of the Moon, flying as close as she dared.

  “Go now!” Zed shouted.

  Zed, Omax, and Eraina ran across the deck, ignoring the chaos. Cyran soldiers scrambled to save their ship. Halfling warriors rushed back to their glidewings, fleeing the doomed vessel. Neither enemy nor ally spared any moment of concern for them as Zed leapt over the rail. The magic of Tristam’s potion still lingered, carrying him upward, crossing the impossible distance between the two ships. He landed with a crash. Though nets had been stretched across the deck to catch them, his landing was not gentle. His sword tumbled from his hand and stars swam in his vision. Eraina landed just as he rose, crashing into him. Omax arrived more gracefully, not even needing the nets as he landed nimbly on his feet. The deck buckled under his arrival. The warforged dropped Dalan d’Cannith stiffly on the deck. The guild master’s eyes were wide as he stared back at the burning hulk from which they had escaped. Seventh Moon plummeted from the sky, her great size making her descent appear agonizingly slow. The Karia Naille dove, struggling to stay beneath the flaming hulk as she dropped.

  “Welcome back, Master d’Cannith,” Pherris Gerriman said. Though his voice was casual, the gnome captain’s hands were tight on the ship’s controls. Sweat beaded on his temples. “I see that the rest of you have chosen, as usual, to spontaneously complicate my evening. I thought Tristam intended merely to cripple their ship, not destroy her.”

  Fire burst from patches within the Moon’s hull. The elemental ring that surrounded her was now broken in three places and blazed with purple lig
htning.

  Zed shrugged as he retrieved his sword, shoving it back into its scabbard. “I dunno. That looks crippled to me.”

  “Damn you, Xain!” Dalan shouted, glaring around him as he searched for the artificer. “How dare you take such foolish risks! You could have killed us all. You could have destroyed everything!”

  “Tristam isn’t here,” Eraina said.

  “Where is he?” Dalan demanded.

  Omax pointed at the burning Moon.

  “We can’t wait for him much longer,” Pherris said, eyeing the burning ship above them with a nervous frown. “I will not leave him behind, but that ship is going down fast.”

  “Fly, Pherris,” said a soft voice from the ship’s bow. Aeven, the dryad, perched beside the figurehead that mirrored her delicate features. Though the rain slicked her golden hair and olive skin, she looked at the crew with a serene smile. “The wind tells me that Tristam Xain and Seren Morisse are safe.”

  Pherris nodded rapidly. “Aye, Aeven.”

  “Mourning Dawn rejoices,” she added, “for Tristam has released her sister from the Dying Sun.” She turned her face back into the storm.

  A triumphant growl surged through the Karia Naille’s elemental ring, and for an instant it blazed pure white. The ship gained altitude, banking heavily to port and pulling away from the Dying Sun. The brilliant lightning and roaring thunder were answered with the violent explosive cries of the Moon’s runaway elemental. The triumphant cheers of the Ghost Talon riders filled the night as Marth’s flagship plummeted.

  A small blue glidewing landed nimbly on the Karia Naille’s deck, his jeering caw making Zed jump back with a curse. Gerith Snowshale rolled off the creature’s back, his eyes wide as he watched the plummeting Moon.

  “Marth’s ship hasn’t broken up yet,” he reported. “That damned thing was built to last. Are we going to follow and finish them off?”

  Pherris looked back at the halfling with a frown. “How uncharacteristically bloodthirsty, Master Snowshale.”

  “You think so?” Gerith said darkly. “I saw what Marth and his men did to the Ghost Talons. If those had been my sisters and my brothers, I know what I would do.”

  “Then we are fortunate that the Ghost Talons are not our tribe,” Pherris said, “for not only are we now a crew of but seven, but our own vessel is barely airborne. Have you forgotten the damage we sustained the last time we encountered the Cyrans? We fly, quite literally, on a wing and a prayer, Master Snowshale.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Gerith acknowledged, though his eyes still watched the descending warship with silent rage.

  “What about Koranth and the halflings?” Eraina asked. “Are we going to rendezvous with them?”

  “No need,” Zed said. “We don’t have any more business with them. I think it’d probably be better for all parties concerned if we just made all possible speed to a town before our ship falls apart.”

  “Indeed,” Dalan said. “Our alliance is tenuous at best. Consider that our previous meeting with their chief ended with an attempt to betray our progress to Baron Zorlan d’Cannith, an attempt that failed only when that mad changeling murdered most of their tribe. I think the Ghost Talons would be quite content to never see us again, and I echo that sentiment. Pherris, plot a course for Vulyar and make all speed that our fragile condition will allow. I can arrange for our necessary repairs there.”

  Pherris nodded. “Aye.”

  “Gerith, why don’t you get back on your glidewing and go find Seren and Tristam?” Dalan added. “Vulyar doesn’t have the facilities to repair the Mourning Dawn properly. We shall need Xain’s help to arrange what we can. I would not trust any other artificer.”

  “Aye,” Gerith said. He whistled and Blizzard took to the air, flying over the side of the ship. The halfling moved to the railing, preparing to jump overboard.

  “Master Snowshale,” Pherris said, a warning tone in his voice. “I recommend you restrain your heroic urges and avoid any survivors of the Seventh Moon. If the Ghost Talons still thirst for revenge, they shall find it without your aid. Your duty is to return Tristam and Seren to us. You shall have ample time for a pointless and heroic death on your own time.”

  Gerith sighed, nodded, and hopped over the rail. Blizzard soared up an instant later, his tiny master riding upon his back.

  “The rest of you return to your duties,” Dalan said. “Get these nets off my deck. It looks like a fishmonger’s hut.”

  “Back to giving orders so quickly, Dalan?” Zed asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “She’s still my ship,” Dalan said with a chuckle. “Next time you plot to save my life, consider the consequences.”

  “Noted,” Zed said. “When you have a moment, I need to talk to you.”

  Dalan’s smile faded, and he looked at Zed soberly. “Captain, please do not disturb me unless you require my dragonmark for emergency repairs,” he said.

  “Aye,” Pherris replied.

  Dalan limped back toward his cabin. Zed wondered how badly d’Cannith was truly injured. The guild master could be a proud man and certainly was not one to beg for aid. That he was showing pain at all suggested his time aboard the Moon had not been pleasant. Zed closed the hatch behind them. He was surprised to see Dalan kneeling on the floor, a sudden grin spread across his bruised features. Dalan’s shaggy dog huddled happily against his master, tail thumping the floor as he licked the fat man’s face.

  “D’Cannith?” Zed asked, stunned. He had never seen Dalan smile before, save when profit was at hand.

  Dalan looked up with amazement. “I … I don’t understand,” he said, his voice thick. “It’s just that … after the crash, Gunther was so badly hurt. He’s a very old dog, I never thought … I just expected he would be gone when I returned.”

  “Eraina healed him,” Zed said.

  “The paladin,” Dalan said, astonished. “I didn’t even ask her. I didn’t wish to presume. She … dislikes me.”

  “You should have more faith in people, Dalan,” Zed said.

  Dalan laughed, scratching the dog’s ears a final time before rising and composing himself. “Odd advice, coming from you, Arthen,” he said. “I shall most definitely thank the Marshal later, and issue a most generous donation to the Hearthmother’s temple in Karrnath. In the meantime, I apologize for allowing you to see me in such a state.”

  “Whatever, Dalan,” Zed said. “I’m glad your dog is well, but it’s not what I’m here to talk about.”

  “You wish to report what Tristam learned from Kiris Overwood?” he asked.

  “Not really,” he said. “I’ll let Tristam share that with you himself, if he chooses to.”

  “If he chooses to?” Dalan asked. “What do you mean? Tristam works for me.”

  “Tristam knows about Marth,” Zed said.

  “Tristam knows what about Marth?” Dalan asked pointedly. He settled heavily into the overstuffed chair behind his desk, dipping a silken handkerchief into a small wash basin and patting some of the blood and grime from his face.

  “Don’t pretend we’re both stupid,” Zed said. “He knows why I quit working for you the last time. He knows that you were helping Marth decipher Ashrem d’Cannith’s work, and that when you found out Marth was a killer, you tried to distance yourself.”

  Dalan shrugged. “Why should I care?” he asked. “Tristam is a clever boy. He was bound to learn the truth eventually. If anything, learning that he was my second choice will only intensify his burning need to prove himself as my uncle’s superior heir. My presence here is ample proof of that. Would Xain have risked all of your lives to rescue me if he no longer trusted me?”

  “Don’t let your arrogance blind you, Dalan,” Zed said. “Tristam didn’t rescue you so that you could keep him under your thumb. He rescued you so that Marth wouldn’t interrogate you and find out what we’ve learned.”

  “Interrogate me?” Dalan said, laughing bitterly as he lit the small lamp beside his desk. “What could Marth possibly learn fro
m me? We know almost nothing.” He chewed his thumb thoughtfully for several seconds. “But perhaps that is what Tristam feared. A man moves slowly if he believes an enemy lies in wait, and so it is with Marth. If Marth knew how far behind him we truly are, he would assemble the Legacy with greater haste. He would know we cannot stop him, and would no longer waste time delaying our own quest.”

  “That sounds more like the way you think than the way Tristam thinks,” Zed said. “Maybe the boy just thinks you haven’t told us everything yet, and he wasn’t ready to let you die until he found out for sure.”

  Dalan gave a wicked grin. “You’re so paranoid, Arthen.”

  “Am I?”

  “Do not take it as an insult,” Dalan said. “I approve. Your paranoia serves you well. Each soul builds defenses against hardship. For you, it is your willingness to expect the worst in everyone about you, and you are never disappointed. For me, is the willingness to turn the weaknesses of others to my advantage—for such opportunity is always there. For Tristam, his work is his defense. He is a craftsman. Invention lifts his soul above earthly worries. So long as I can aid him in his work, he will always need me.”

  “You haven’t changed, d’Cannith.”

  “Oh, but I have,” Dalan said. “You may see me as manipulative and arrogant, but these qualities have served me well. Thus I see no reason to discard them. You may not like me, Arthen, but we are allies—and I do sincerely wish to atone for my mistakes.”

  “Then stop making them,” Zed said. He stooped to scratch the dog behind the ears, then left the cabin. Arthen closed the hatch quietly, leaving the guild master to his solitude.

  TWO

  The sun shone brilliant gold over the plains, as if proud that it had finally melted last night’s clouds away. The new light was greeted by the jubilant songs of wild birds and the bass cry of a grazing threehorn herd. It was a beautiful sight, or would have been, if Seren hadn’t had such a terrible headache. She squinted, not wanting to wake up, huddling tightly into her blankets and hugging her pillow against her chest. It was only after a moment’s consideration that she realized she had not been carrying any blankets or pillows.