by Rich Wulf
Was this why Jamus had told her nothing? To give her an easy way out in case he died? It would be just like him, she thought with a scowl. Jamus always underestimated her stubbornness. Seren pushed open the door of the sky tower and stepped inside.
She was surprised to find no crewmen inside the tower, no one on watch. She climbed the spiraling staircase and stepped out onto the top of the tower. There were no outer parapets, not even a rail to protect a person from falling off the gangplank. A cargo crane mounted on the bridge creaked and wobbled in the wind. Seren felt a sense of vertigo but didn’t stumble; she had no fear of heights.
This close to the ship, Seren could hear the crackling, rhythmic hum emanate from the faint ring of blue fire that surrounded the vessel. The flames hovered around Karia Naille, roughly twenty feet from the top of the deck and only a few feet from the bottom of the hull. A sleek elegant wooden strut rose from the top and bottom of the vessel, grasping the fire in a pair of crystalline hooks. The ring’s color shifted by the moment, flickering from blue to white to lavender. Seren had heard that airships were powered by elementals, strange creatures summoned from a world of harsh primal fire and bound into service. She had always found the stories somewhat sad. In her more indulgent moments, she even sympathized with them, forced to serve in a world they didn’t want to live in. If the burning ring sensed her sympathy it did not seem to care.
Bringing herself back to the matter at hand, Seren scanned her surroundings and again found no crewmen guarding the bridge between the tower and ship. The vessel was relatively small, with a door at each end of the deck leading to a cabin and presumably below decks. She saw no one on deck at all. The only sign of life she could detect was the rather curious odor of freshly baked pastry. She peered around uneasily, certain she must have missed something. Seren had never been on an airship before, but she knew they were very valuable. Why would this one be unguarded? Shouldn’t there at least be a crew? It seemed unlikely that there wouldn’t be someone around. This certainly wasn’t the best neighborhood to leave a valuable ship unguarded.
She stepped cautiously across the bridge, ignoring the howling winds that sliced at the high tower. Seren felt a sudden sense of unease as she prepared to step onto the deck. A wave of dizziness washed over her. The winds increased, whipping past her and raising a keening wail from the burning elemental ring. She stepped away and reached out to steady herself on the docking crane. Seren felt suddenly as if someone were watching her, someone not altogether pleased by her arrival.
“Hello?” she called out over the wind. There was no answer at first. “Is anyone here?”
There was a sudden sound of rushing air and Seren felt something heavy strike the bridge behind her. She turned around to see a reptilian beast the size of a small pony crouched on the top of the tower. Its flesh was a motley pattern of dark greens, with a pale blue underbelly. It held its long beak open just enough for her to see rows of sharp teeth and glared at her with dull black eyes. Most surprising of all was that it wore a leather harness on its back. The creature lowered its thin body and narrowed its eyes at Seren, releasing a birdlike shriek.
“He wants to know why you’re here,” said a voice from above her.
Seren looked up. A child dressed in wildly colorful outfit of leather and silk now crouched on top of the crane, pointing a small crossbow at her. No, not a child, a halfling. He regarded her with a confident mix of mischief and silent menace as he waited for her answer.
“My name is Seren Morisse,” she said calmly, trying not to let the halfling’s sudden appearance unnerve her. “I was invited here by Tristam Xain and Omax. This is Karia Naille, right?”
“Oh, so you’re not a thief, then,” the little man said, lowering his crossbow. He chuckled. “Or at least you’re a thief on our side?”
Seren could not help but smirk. “I’m not on anyone’s side,” she said. “I only came here for answers.”
“Funny place to look for them,” the halfling answered, hooking his weapon on his belt. “Glad to meet you, Seren. I’m Gerith. You’ve already met Blizzard.”
With that, the halfling flipped backward, off the crane and into the wind. Seren’s jaw dropped in surprise at the suicidal act, but in the same instant Blizzard shrieked and leapt off the tower as well. With a leathery snap it unfurled wide, batlike wings and dove down, past the bridge. A moment later it soared back up in a spiral. Gerith now clung to the harness on its back. The halfling laughed as the creature flew in a loop around the burning ring and landed gracefully on the ship’s railing. Gerith looked back at her eagerly, taking obvious joy at the surprise on her face. He flashed a wide smile, showing off the wide gap where he was missing some of his front teeth. Seren stood with her hands on her hips for a thoughtful moment then clapped politely, drawing more laughter from the halfling.
“Welcome to Karia Naille, Seren,” Gerith said, hopping from the saddle with a flourish as she stepped onto the deck. “I’ll tell everyone that you’re here. I know you said you wanted answers, but perhaps in the meantime, you’d settle for pie? Pie is usually better than answers. Pie doesn’t disappoint.” He winked.
Seren had been about to refuse, then realized how hungry she was. “Pie sounds good, Gerith,” she said.
The halfling nodded eagerly. “My chicken pie is the best,” he said, patting Blizzard on the beak before heading off toward the nearest hatch. “Back in the Plains, it’s said that great chefs make the best lovers, you know. That’s a very pretty dress, Seren.”
Seren looked at the halfling incredulously.
Gerith looked back at her, winked again, and vanished below deck.
Seren looked at Blizzard, but the creature was busy preening his wing. His master’s antics were clearly something that no longer concerned the creature, and since Gerith had approved of her presence, she was no longer a concern.
Seren heard the opposite hatch open behind her, accompanied by footsteps too heavy to be a halfling’s. “Pay no mind to Gerith Snowshale,” said a familiar voice. “He’s a good translator and the best scout I’ve ever known, but he is too eager to impress the fairer sex. Whether they are the proper age, social class, or race is rarely a concern for him.”
Seren turned to face the new arrival. Her expression became grim when she recognized his face.
“Is there a problem?” Dalan d’Cannith asked with a small smile. “Did you not wish to see me?”
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said. “Usually a dragonmarked ship is a little more obvious.”
“The ship bears no obvious marks of ownership for good reason, I assure you of that.”
“Are you the captain?” she asked.
“I own Karia Naille, if that is what you truly meant to ask, but I am not the captain,” he said. “I prefer to leave such matters in the hands of more qualified associates. What business do you have here?”
“I’m Seren Morisse,” she said. “I came to see Tristam Xain and Omax.”
“Both are in my employ,” Dalan said. “Tristam and Omax are currently in the city, gathering supplies for our departure. Perhaps I can be of assistance? You may as well address your concerns to me, as it is likely they would have referred you to me in any case. Or perhaps I have misjudged your arrival. Perhaps you simply returned to see if I had anything else worth stealing?”
“I think I made a mistake,” Seren said, backing toward the bridge. Dalan continued to watch her with a smug expression.
“Why am I not surprised?” Dalan said with a sigh. “A thief claims to seek answers, but when confronted with the most brutal truths, she scurries back to the safety of ignorance. Would you rather I lied to you, Seren? Would you rather I pretend not to know that you are a thief? I had assumed honesty would be our best starting point. If you change your mind, I will be waiting to discuss this. Enjoy the pie.” He turned and slipped back into his cabin, closing the hatch behind him.
The other hatch opened, and Gerith appeared. He held a wooden plate heaped
with a thick slice of pie and a crystal goblet of milk. His cheerful expression faded when he saw Seren standing on the bridge.
“Leaving already?” he asked, crestfallen.
“Not yet,” she said, stopping and looking back toward Dalan’s cabin. “I need to talk to Dalan.”
“Ask him if he’d like some pie,” Gerith offered cheerfully.
Dalan looked up with a frown as Seren entered his cabin. Much like his private study, it was packed with books and scrolls. The small chamber was only as tidy as it needed to be for its owner to navigate the room unharmed. A small bed in one corner was the only gesture toward comfort. The shaggy old dog lay half-asleep on it now, though its tail thumped the pillows when it recognized Seren, the beloved giver of cake.
“We knock before we enter a cabin on this ship,” Dalan said, setting his quill down and placing whatever he had been writing out of sight.
Seren did not answer his barb, only dug out the journal and dropped it heavily onto the desk. Dalan reached out quickly to steady his wine glass. The volume landed so that the gorgon seal was facing Dalan.
“My partner and I stole that book last night,” Seren said.
“Yes, I know,” Dalan said, dusting off the cover with one hand. “Not only did you make a mess of my home, but Gunther was up all night with indigestion. Old dogs are not meant to have sweets.”
“Why didn’t you report the theft to the Watch?” she demanded.
“It was not the Watch’s affair,” Dalan said.
“The man who hired us killed my partner when he learned that book was a fake,”
Dalan looked up at her frankly. “Then perhaps you should go to the Watch and report his death.”
Seren only looked at Dalan.
“Of course that is not an option for a person in your profession,” Dalan said. “As it is not an option for me. We are not so different, Seren.”
“Why did our client want that book so badly? My partner didn’t tell me much before he died.”
“Why do you wish to know?” Dalan asked. “If you think you might ransom it back, you are mistaken.”
“No,” Seren snapped. “I just want to know why my friend died to steal a fake copy of … whatever this is.”
Dalan took a slow sip from his wine before he answered. “The book is not a fake, Seren,” he said. “It merely isn’t what your employer believed it to be. It is one of many mundane journals crafted by an author notable for several more significant works. Ironically, we might have more answers had you not so cleverly recovered it.”
“Explain,” Seren said.
“Tristam placed upon enchantments upon the book so that we could track it,” Dalan said. He looked at her intently. “So you really had no idea what your client believed this book to be?”
“No,” Seren said, unable to keep the edge from her voice. She pushed a pile of books from a chair across from Dalan and sat, eliciting an annoyed wince from him as the pile hit the floor. “Jamus knew more, but he didn’t tell me. Marth sure didn’t give anything away.”
“Marth,” Dalan said, weighing the name carefully. “So why did you bother to take the book with you when you escaped?”
“I thought it might hold some answers,” she said. “I guess it’s useless.”
“Not entirely,” Dalan said, leafing through the book’s pages. “It was necessary to use a compelling decoy, and thus it does bear some modest sentimental value. I appreciate its return. Had you not been the sort of person who would make the effort to return my property, for whatever reason, I most likely would not be tolerating your presence on my ship. Now, let us see if we can find some answers. Please tell me as much of your client, the man that killed your partner, as you can. His name was Marth, was it?”
“Tell me why you set a trap with an enchanted book first,” Seren demanded.
“A trap?” Dalan said. He laughed, steepling his fingers over the book. “The paranoid always overestimate their own importance. I did not trap you. I do not care about you. A man makes contingencies for his own protection, and you see it as some contrived plot against you. Realize where you stand. You and your partner chose the lives you did, and this Marth used you to get to me. You knew the risks, and when you failed to deliver genuine merchandise, you paid the price. If you cannot hold yourself to blame for being a thief who will offer her services to a murderer, then the depths of your denial are truly without measure. Keep in mind what your intent was yesterday evening—to steal another man’s property for money, on behalf of an employer you neither knew nor trusted. Do not pretend that you are somehow the injured party in this affair. You were simply not as clever as you imagined, and your friend Jamus died. Perhaps rather than curse me for some imagined entrapment, you might thank me for sending Tristam and Omax to save you.”
“I saved their lives, actually,” Seren said.
Dalan was silent a long moment, then chuckled. “The details of that encounter varied slightly with Tristam’s telling of the tale,” he said. “I suppose I should have known well enough to ask Omax what happened. He may be a construct, but he’s far more reliable than the boy. Now, please, let us set aside our respective motivations and concentrate on facts. You thought yourself the clever thief set to receive a legendary reward. I thought myself a keen manipulator, setting an inescapable trap to catch those who conspired against me. We were both wrong. Now tell me what you know and let us help one another.”
Seren folded her arms and leaned back in the chair with a frown. “I’m afraid I don’t know much,” she said. “We met a changeling named Marth, who called himself a captain.”
“A changeling?” Dalan asked. “He showed his true face to you and admitted he was a changeling?”
Seren nodded.
“Strange,” he said. “They are a misunderstood and often hated race. Their ability to control their appearance makes them difficult to trust. It’s very rare for one to reveal himself in such a manner, except to another whom he trusts implicitly.”
“Or maybe he planned to kill us all along so it didn’t matter if we knew what he was,” Seren said.
“A possibility,” Dalan admitted.
“His guards were well armed and trained,” Seren said. “They were equipped like professional soldiers. I never saw the crest they wore before, but then I’ve never seen any soldiers other than Brelish ones.”
“Omax recognized their uniforms, and so did I when he described them to me,” Dalan said. “They were Cyran.”
“Cyre?” Seren said. “I didn’t think Cyre had an army. Or much of anything else.”
Dalan shrugged. “Many Cyran soldiers survived the Day of Mourning because they were in enemy lands. The armor and uniforms Omax described were those of the Eighty-Seventh Legion, a unit that was in Karrnath when the tragedy occurred. They became mercenaries after the Day of Mourning. Such a fate is unsurprising. Imagine what that must be like, Seren. To be a warrior, fighting for the future of your homeland in strange and distant country, only to discover that you now have no homeland. All that you’ve fought for, all that you’ve lived for, is now gone. You are now irrelevant. Yet the desire to fight remains, the desire to shed blood for a cause endures even though there is no cause at all, except perhaps vengeance. What life would beckon such a lost soul other than that of a mercenary? Those who fought for king and country now fight for gold and silver. It saddens me, to see my own countrymen fall to such a fate.”
“You’re Cyran?” she asked. Gunther hobbled out of his bed and sniffed Seren curiously for any sign of food. Finding none, the dog rested his head on her lap and waited to be petted.
“Many members of my House are Cyran,” Dalan said. “Fortunately, unlike the soldiers you met, most of my friends lived outside Cyre. My service to my house gives me continued purpose. But we are wandering far from the meat of this discourse. What else do you know of this Captain Marth?”
“Not much,” Seren said, scratching the dog’s ears absently. “Jamus wouldn’t tell me much about who
we were working for. I think he wanted to protect me. He said that he had arranged for speaker posts to be sent to his allies, and he mentioned Fairhaven, but I don’t know anyone from there.”
“A bluff, most likely,” Dalan said. “Pity that you survived and he did not. His insight would no doubt be more illuminating than your own. No offense.” Dalan smiled insincerely. “Cheer up, little thief. I am certain you are better off without a master who would hitch your wagon to a killer. Indeed, if he truly wished to protect you, he should have avoided taking a job from someone so untrustworthy.”
“Are you done judging the dead, d’Cannith?” Seren asked.
“For now,” Dalan said. “I do tend to go on, a trait I inherited from my mother. A wonderful woman. Pray continue, Seren. Tell me whatever you can remember, no matter how insignificant.”
“Well, like I said, Jamus didn’t tell me much about our employer,” she answered. “I’m not even sure if we were working directly for Marth. I thought our employer was a woman, at least from the way Jamus spoke. Jamus was surprised when Marth arrived so early.”
“Interesting,” Dalan said, thumbing through the journal as he listened to Seren’s information. “Is there anything else?”
“He killed Jamus and set the inn on fire using magic,” she said. “Some sort of amethyst wand.”
Dalan’s eyes narrowed in thought. “That makes a great deal of sense,” he said. “I have suspected that our competitor was a student of artifice.”
“Competitor?” Seren asked.
“What I am about to say is quite delicate,” Dalan said. “It would be in your best interests, once you leave my ship, to forget what I tell you—not for my sake but your own. My troubles are a heavy thing, and could easily crush one as small as yourself. I am loath to even speak of them, but my associates promised you an exchange of information. As foolish as they may have been to make such an arrangement with a thief, I am a man of my word. Do you understand?”