Voyage of the Mourning Dawn: Heirs of Ash, Book 1

by Rich Wulf

  Seren hurried to Tristam’s side, pausing only to snatch her dagger from the tree. Tristam tried to push her away as she reached for his bloody shirt but she slapped his hands away. Her fingers brushed against his stomach and she stared at him in astonishment. Though his shirt was soaked with blood, there was no wound.

  Zed frowned ruefully as he wiped the blood off his blade with a dead mercenary’s cloak and sheathed it. “If they were trying to take me alive,” he said, “They weren’t trying very hard.”

  “Whatcha mean, Zed? You look alive to me,” Gerith said. He smiled wickedly as he hopped down from a tree.

  “Still following me, Snowshale?” the inquisitive asked, sheathing his blade with a clack.

  “That’s some way to thank us for saving you,” Tristam said, still shivering from the effects of Eraina’s magic.

  “I would have been fine, boy,” Zed said.

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Tristam shot back angrily. “What are you doing showing the lens to a Sentinel Marshal?” He pointed at Eraina accusingly.

  Eraina d’Deneith looked at Tristam with a cold expression. Her eyes flicked to the gaping hole in his shirt, then back to his face. “Speaking of questionable thanks …” she said simply.

  “Time to fight later,” Omax said as he heaped the body of a mercenary against a tree. “None of us foresaw the coming of these men, so their presence is our immediate concern. This one is merely unconscious.” He lifted the soldier lying under his feet and propped him against a tree, then looked at Eraina. “You are a healer. Can you revive him? Perhaps we can question him.”

  Eraina nodded, sheathing her shortsword and walking over to the fallen man.

  “Belay that, Marshal Eraina,” Zed said, cocking his head to one side. Seren could hear it too, now, a steady throbbing hum growing swiftly louder. “We’d best run.”

  The trees above exploded in a blaze of white light just as a sleek silver airship broke through the canopy. It was larger even than the Lyrandar ship, with the national crest of Cyre emblazoned on the hull. Electricity crackled from a long rod mounted on the hull.

  “Khyber,” Zed grumbled.

  Seren turned and ran with the others at her side; a flurry of crossbow bolts pelted the clearing. She felt a burning pain in her calf and her leg went dead. Just as she stumbled, Zed Arthen wrapped an arm around her waist and kept running, bearing her weight with ease.

  “Gerith, we need a distraction and an exit!” Zed shouted as they ran deeper into the woods.

  “Working on it!” came the halfling’s reply. This was accompanied by a whoosh of air and the flap of broad wings as he swooped overhead and soared up over the trees. The glidewing soared back directly toward the airship, dodging and weaving as missiles rained into the forest. A plume of bright light fired from a tube in Gerith’s hand onto the ship’s deck, exploding in a cloud of pale gray smoke. Then Blizzard dove again, vanishing into the trees before the Cyran ship could score a lucky hit.

  “What else did he take out of my lab?” Tristam shouted, looking back with a scowl.

  “Shut up and keep running,” Zed shouted.

  “Why aren’t we running toward the village?” Tristam shouted back.

  “Black Pit has enough problems,” Zed said. “Those soldiers won’t stop shooting if innocent people get in the way.”

  Under different circumstances, Seren might have argued the existence of innocent people in Black Pit. She kept such comments to herself and just kept hopping along in pain. Each jolt sent waves of agony through her leg. The roaring thrum of the strange airship receded and Zed set her down carefully against a tree. Seren was about to offer thanks, but her words became a confused stutter when she saw the crossbow bolt piercing through her calf.

  “A clean wound,” Zed said cheerfully. He clapped her on the shoulder and stood, facing the others. “You took it well, Seren. Most men faint the first time they’re shot.”

  Seren only nodded dumbly, fighting the urge to do just that.

  “Eraina, please help her,” Zed said. “Omax, establish a perimeter. Make sure we don’t have any more of those mercenaries chasing us.”

  The warforged stomped into the woods without a word. The dark-haired marshal knelt by Seren’s side, tending her wounded leg with the tender precision of a practiced medic.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, smiling gently.

  “Seren,” she said, then stifled a cry as Eraina used the moment of distraction to snap the crossbow bolt and draw both ends cleanly from the leg. Eraina bound a scrap of silk cloth tightly over the wound and whispered a soft prayer. Seren heard the name “Boldrei.” Motes of white magic spread from Eraina’s fingers to the wound. Her leg felt numb, then cold, and then the pain went away. Her calf twitched uncomfortably and itched a little, but there was no more pain.

  “Thank you,” Seren said, amazed.

  Eraina studied her with an intensely curious expression.

  “Can she run?” Zed asked brusquely. “We have to be ready to move.”

  “Why do you keep giving us orders, Arthen?” Tristam asked.

  “This is not the time, Xain,” Zed said, watching the sky.

  “Yes, Sir,” Tristam said. “I guess that’s the way it always is. We need your help and you run off to Black Pit, but the instant you’re in trouble it’s back to giving orders. What’s your problem, Zed? Do we all look like squires to you?”

  “I will assume that the stress of the moment has overcome your senses and I will let that slide, Xain,” Zed answered. “Do not mock me again. Not about that.”

  “Then tell me what in Khyber is going on here!” Tristam demanded. “Where did that airship come from?”

  “Zed was as surprised to see that ship as we were, Tristam,” Seren said.

  “No,” Zed said. “That’s not what he’s talking about, Seren. Tristam recognized that ship. So did I.” Zed looked at Tristam with a sober, pensive expression. “Now is not the time to worry on it. We’ll all get our answers.”

  “We had better,” Eraina said, folding her arms across her chest and glaring coldly at Tristam and Zed.

  Tristam grimaced at Eraina and quickly looked away, clearly uncertain whether to demand an explanation for her presence or thank her for saving his life. Instead he sat beside Seren with an exhausted sigh. He looked at the bandage on her leg, then at the Deneith Marshal. He shrugged uncomfortably into his heavy coat.

  “Shouldn’t we be getting back to Karia Naille?” Seren asked.

  “Gerith went for help,” Tristam said. “Pherris is probably on his way to us already.”

  “How will he find us?” she asked.

  “Aeven always finds us,” Tristam said.

  “Aeven?” Seren asked, but was interrupted by the thrum of an airship overhead.

  Seren’s heart jumped at the familiar rhythm. Even though she had only been on the ship for a short time, the song of Karia Naille’s elemental fire was welcome and familiar. She leapt up just as Tristam did, just as Omax returned from his patrol. She watched the airship pass over the trees and stop, hovering above them. The cargo ladder unrolled and hung in the air with a snap.

  “Ladies first, Marshal Eraina,” Tristam said with equal parts courtesy and suspicion.

  The Marshal did not argue, and quickly began her climb. Seren followed, feeling the strength fully return to her injured leg as she put her weight on it. Gerith and Eraina helped her into the cargo bay, and she turned to help Tristam board behind her.

  “Welcome back, Master Xain,” Dalan said coldly.

  Seren jumped. She had not noticed Dalan d’Cannith standing in the shadows of the cargo bay. He was watching them all with an unpleasant expression.

  “How was your evening?” he asked acidly.

  “Productive,” Tristam answered, facing Dalan with all the confidence he could muster. “More productive than sitting in the airship, doing nothing.”

  “I missed you, Dalan,” Zed said, climbing into the hold.

  Dalan ignored
Zed’s greeting, standing as he was with arms folded across his thick stomach.

  Seren looked down to see Omax making his way up the ladder. The warforged was climbing slowly but surely. Seren thought she heard the wailing hum of the ship’s elemental grow suddenly in volume. Omax looked up suddenly.

  “Look out!” the warforged cried.

  A cacophonous explosion sent a shockwave through the hull, sending her tumbling back into the cargo bay.

  The hum had not grown louder at all. The other ship had found them.

  “Enemy ship off the port bow!” Pherris shouted, his voice echoing through the bronze tubes.

  Seren crawled back to the edge of the bay doors, looking down at Omax helplessly. The warforged was now hugging the rope ladder with both arms and legs, struggling to hold on as the ship heaved dangerously. Sparks flew from his shoulder as a crossbow bolt grazed his armor.

  “Draw up the ladder!” Arthen shouted.

  “He’s too heavy,” Tristam said, tugging fruitlessly at the winch.

  “Status report, crew!” Pherris demanded from above.

  “Omax isn’t aboard yet,” Tristam shouted.

  “Take off now,” Dalan said urgently.

  Karia Naille banked heavily, pulling higher into the sky. Omax spun helplessly at the end of the ladder.

  “Omax!” Tristam shouted. He fell to his knees beside the bay doors, tugging at the ropes. “Someone, help me!”

  Gerith and Zed seized each side of the ladder, hauling it up with all their strength. Seren hauled on the ropes too, though she was so exhausted she feared she contributed little. Behind them, she heard Eraina’s voice rise in prayer. She felt her exhaustion begin to melt away, and strength surged through her arms. The rope came up, rung by rung. The air thinned as the ship pulled higher into the air. Wind whistled dangerously through the open bay doors. Another explosion resounded as the other ship belched lightning across the sky.

  When Omax was only a dozen feet from the hold, the ship turned sharply. The left side of the ladder split with a sickly snap. Seren drew back in pain, the rope burning her fingers as it tore free. Almost immediately the remaining side of the rope began to fray and smoke. Omax looked up at them. The light in his blue eyes dimmed for a brief instant, and he bowed his head against his chest.

  “Omax, no!” Tristam howled, hauling on the remaining rope with all his strength. Zed stood by him, trying desperately to at least anchor the slack before Omax dropped further away. Smoke hissed their gloves, but they held firm.

  “We need to be away from here,” Pherris shouted from the helm. “Is everyone aboard?”

  “Damn it, Dalan, do something!” Zed hissed.

  Then Dalan was there, pulling the collar of his shirt aside to reveal the swirling tattoo on his right shoulder. Without a word, he called upon his dragonmark. There was no surge of magic, no fantastic display. He merely touched the broken ropes and the ladder was whole again.

  “Keep pulling,” he said blandly.

  Tristam nodded, hauling with all his strength as Zed, Gerith, and Seren did likewise. Omax crawled up through the hull and collapsed in the cargo bay with a metal clang. Gerith fell on the bay door levers, sealing the hull with a heavy thud.

  “Aeven, we’re clear!” Gerith shouted.

  The winds howled around Karia Naille, and the elemental ring screamed with burning energy. Seren was thrown back on the deck as a burst of speed surged through the airship.

  The sounds of the pursuing ship faded into the distance.

  An uneasy silence had fallen over Karia Naille. The usual even hum of the ship’s elemental fire was now broken by a rattling stutter. The bluish-white fire that orbited the ship was streaked with red. Seren had climbed onto the wooden strut above the deck. It was a precarious position. The elemental ring radiated a fierce heat. Her body would have been soaked with sweat if not for the chill winds that howled over her. Her hair was tied back with a black silk kerchief to prevent it from blowing into the fire.

  Seren carefully avoided thinking about what might happen if she fell. She leaned as close to the flame as she dared. The end of the wooden arm was singed black from one of the Cyran airship’s lightning blasts. The crystalline hook that secured the elemental to the airship was now webbed with tiny cracks.

  “How is it?” Tristam asked. He stood directly below the hook, peering at it from all angles. The others looked up nervously with the exception of the captain, who was intent on the helm.

  “It’s cracked pretty badly,” Seren said. Even as she spoke, the strut rocked, nearly shaking her off. She clung to it with arms and legs. A small shard of crystal splintered off the hook with a musical chime and disappeared on the wind.

  “Khyber, the ring is coming loose,” Tristam swore. “Pherris, we need to land.”

  The captain looked up at the ring fearfully. “If I put any more stress on the controls we’ll go down quick enough, tinker,” he said. “A steady course is all that’ll keep us alive now.”

  “Well, good luck, everybody,” Gerith said, climbing on Blizzard’s back with a nervous grin. “If anybody wanted to pass on any last words, messages to loved ones, valuable possessions …”

  Omax looked down at the halfling.

  “Just trying to lighten the mood,” the halfling said. “Seriously, though. Good luck.

  “Seren, try this,” Tristam said. He took a small bottle from one of his numerous pouches and tossed it up to her. She snatched it in one hand, looking at it curiously. It was a small, unlabeled black bottle with a long brush clamped to one side.

  “It’s a bonding agent,” Tristam explained. “I use it for ship repairs. Just brush it on the hook!”

  Seren nodded. She tried to remove the cap with her teeth, hugging the ship’s arm with one arm and both lags.

  “Careful, Seren, it bonds in seconds,” Tristam said. “Don’t get any on yourself.”

  She quickly took the bottle out of her mouth and decided instead to risk unscrewing it with both hands, clutching the strut with just her legs. The arm shuddered beneath her, nearly shaking her off again. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she held on. Quickly, she held the bottle out and dumped the contents over the hook. The liquid inside was thin and gooey, like syrup. She spread it over the cracks using the brush, or at least did for several seconds until the brush became firmly glued to the hook.

  “The brush is stuck,” she said, looking down at Tristam.

  “Then I guess it’s working,” Tristam said, his tone somewhat embarrassed. “I’m still working on that formula. As long as you spread it around consistently it should hold.”

  Seren looked back at the hook. The glue had assumed a shiny, metallic sheen, coating the hairline cracks. The ship’s arm still shook, but a great deal less violently than before. Seren tossed the empty bottle over the side and rolled off the hook, hanging by one hand for a moment before dropping to the deck. Omax caught her easily and set her on her feet.

  “Well done, Seren,” Dalan said, surprising her with his praise.

  “Impressive climb,” Gerith added, looking up at the thin wooden arm in awe.

  “Why didn’t we send Snowshale?” Zed asked, looking up from his pipe. “He’s lighter.”

  “Are you kidding?” Gerith asked. “Climbing something like that is insane.”

  Seren looked at the halfling, then at the flying dinosaur he rode. Gerith shrugged.

  “How long will that glue hold, tinker?” Pherris asked, ignoring their discussion.

  “Three or four days at most,” Tristam said.

  “Cragwar isn’t too far from here,” Pherris said. “We can put in for repairs.”

  “Can’t you use your dragonmark to fix the damage?” Eraina asked.

  “I cannot,” Dalan said. “I exhausted my rather limited talents fixing the ladder, and even had I not done so, I am wary about mixing magics—especially where the survival of everyone on board is concerned.” He glared at Eraina. “Now could someone perhaps explain why a Dene
ith Sentinel Marshal is on my ship?”

  “I might as well ask you why you fly a ship unmarked with any symbols of house or nation,” Eraina said.

  “A fair question,” Dalan said. “But the fact remains this is my ship, and that I have saved your life by allowing you to board it. What are you doing here?”

  Seren was surprised that Eraina did not reply that she had saved Tristam’s life and possibly her own as well. The marshal only looked away.

  “Marshal d’Deneith is one of my contacts,” Zed said, stepping between Dalan and Eraina. “I was meeting her when those Cyran mercenaries attacked. I assure you, we both appreciate the rescue.”

  “My pleasure,” Dalan said graciously, as if it were all his doing. Though his tone was polite, his eyes were shrewd. “A pity we cannot risk returning you to your home in Black Pit. Cragwar will have to do. Of course you are welcome to stay with the crew if you like, Arthen. Your insights are much appreciated, assuming you remember your place. As for you, Marshal, I would be pleased to deposit you in Cragwar as long as you remain locked in one of the lower cabins until then.”

  “I’m to be imprisoned?” she asked. “Is this the hospitality of House Cannith?”

  “As you expertly pointed out, this is not a Cannith ship,” Dalan said. “If my proposed arrangement does not interest you,” he added, and stepped to his left, gesturing at the deck rail with a flourish, “there is your alternate exit. Feel free to utilize it. Surely your goddess will bear you safely to the ground.”

  Eraina glared at Dalan in silent hatred but did not rise to his barbs. “I would appreciate a ride to Cragwar,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “Excellent,” Dalan said. “Omax, escort the good Marshal to her cabin.”

  The warforged nodded and stood beside the ladder leading below decks. Eraina offered Dalan a final scathing look and followed him below.

  “Tristam, you are excused to your studies,” Dalan said. “I would like to discuss what just occurred privately with Zed and Seren.” Dalan returned to his cabin and stepped inside, not even offering Tristam a second glance.