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

by Rich Wulf

  “Good to have you back among the living, Master Snowshale,” Pherris shouted without looking away from the wheel. “Your counsel would be appreciated!”

  Gerith stood up on wobbly legs, looking around at the landscape as he attempted to get his bearings. Seventh Moon now soared directly beside them. Seren could see soldiers on the deck readying crossbows. Omax pushed her down behind the ship’s rail as he took cover himself. A flurry of bolts thudded into the hull and passed over their heads. The clouds above now churned a dangerous black. A rumble resonated above them as the storm continued to brew. Dalan stood up briefly and loosed a single bolt at the other ship; Seren thought she heard a man cry out on Moon’s deck.

  “There’s a small gorge about a half mile east of here,” Gerith shouted. “If they lose sight of us we can land there unseen.”

  Pherris nodded and turned the wheel sharply. The elemental fire now burned pure white as a burst of speed came over the smaller ship. At same instant, the sky exploded in rain and another searing flash of lightning exploded from Moon. Seren wrapped one arm around the railing at the savage force of the explosion. A loud crack sounded from deep inside the vessel, followed by the smell of burning wood.

  “I think that was the keel,” Tristam said in horror. He staggered clumsily across the shaking deck toward the cargo hold. “Dalan, I might need your dragonmark!”

  The fat guildmaster stood and loosed another bolt at Moon, then followed Tristam. Omax followed as well, stopping only long enough to pick up a barrel and hurl it at the other vessel. The improvised missile sailed through the void and left a dent in Moon’s hull, which was answered with another flurry of crossbow bolts. The head of one jutted through the railing just beside Zed’s face.

  “So tell me about your goddess, Eraina,” Zed said with exaggerated calm. “I suddenly find religion interests me.”

  “Belay your salvation until we are on the ground, Master Arthen,” Pherris snapped.

  “But if I survive I won’t need to be saved!” Zed said with a grin. The battle appeared to have cheered the grim inquisitive’s spirits dramatically.

  Karia Naille dropped steadily from the sky even as she gained speed. Moon dove to intercept them. Another flash of lightning lit the sky, but this time from above and directly in Moon’s path. The larger ship swerved, losing ground. In the flash of light, Seren thought she saw the silhouette of a slim woman standing protectively over Pherris, arms spread wide against the storm. When the lightning flashed a second time, she saw only the ship’s figurehead.

  “This is west, Captain, we’re headed west!” Gerith shouted, pointing the other way. “The gorge is the other way!”

  The captain leaned hard into the wheel to fight the ship’s steady decline. Smoke was now rising from between the deck boards. She could hear Tristam and Dalan shouting at one another below. Pherris peered back at Moon with a scowl, waiting for something Seren couldn’t see.

  “Hold fast!” the gnome shouted and turned the wheel sharply.

  Seren heard a wooden groan and another snap from deep within the ship as Karia Naille spun about in midair. Eraina lost her grip on the rail and tumbled across the deck with a startled cry. Zed snatched her leg before she flew over the side. Their ship hurtled directly toward the larger warship on a suicidal path. Moon swerved hurriedly, but their pilot was less skilled than Pherris. The larger ship rolled dangerously as she turned. There was a moment when the black hull passed only a few feet from Karia Naille. Two rings of elemental fire passed through one another with the crackling smell of ozone. Karia Naille soared off at tremendous speed even as Moon struggled to recover from its dive. The rain came down in a furious downpour, covering their escape.

  “Captain, we have to land!” Tristam shouted from below.

  The gnome continued to fight the controls as the ship shuddered and lost altitude. Seren clung to the rain-slicked rail. She felt terrified and helpless. She saw a flaming board peel itself away from the hull beneath her and tumble into the storm. The gorge yawned in the ground before them, dividing the landscape. The ship wove into the wide stone mouth and everything went dark. Something gripped Seren’s arms tightly. A flash of lightning showed that roots had grown from the wooden deck to hold her fast, saving her from falling into the void.

  “Don’t be afraid, Seren,” a woman’s voice whispered in her ear.

  Then Karia Naille struck the unforgiving surface with a crash. Seren’s head snapped back against the deck, and then there was nothing.

  The storm disappeared as quickly as it came. The helm of Kenshi Zhann filled with eerie silence. Through the forward panel, Marth could see a vast expanse of nothing. He darted to the window, looking in all directions, milky eyes scouring the sky for any sign of their quarry.

  Karia Naille was gone.

  Marth spun about in a fury, chest heaving with every breath. His hand tightened about his amethyst wand, though there were no enemies about. He composed himself when he realized that the helmsman was staring at him with open terror.

  “I’m sorry, Captain Marth,” the man said in a low voice. “I didn’t expect them to be so fast, or for the storm to come up so suddenly, or for them to veer at us like that. I take full responsibility for their escape.”

  The changeling raised a silencing hand, closing his eyes patiently. “You did nothing wrong, Devyn,” he said. “Pherris Gerriman is the finest airship pilot this side of House Lyrandar. I am not altogether surprised. His ship, like ours, needs neither magic nor dragonmark to command her—the proper training and an iron will are all that are required.” Marth smiled at Devyn. “Next time, Devyn, your will must be stronger than Gerriman’s.”

  The helmsman smiled in relief. “I won’t fail you, Captain,” he said.

  Marth nodded in reply, ignoring the helmsman. Inwardly, the changeling restrained himself from punishing the pilot. He could not afford to do so, not now. Devyn was the best pilot among his crew, other than himself. He would need the fool if Karia Naille turned out not to be as damaged as she looked. In the meantime, perhaps his presumed mercy would drive the helmsman to try harder. Anything was possible.

  “Land there,” Marth said, pointing to a nearby valley. “We will repair the damage to our vessel.”

  “Captain?” the helmsman said. “We suffered minimal damage, but the Karia Naille was crippled. She cannot have run far. If we patrol the area, we may find her.”

  “There is no need to patrol,” Marth said. “I already know where d’Cannith is going … even if he does not.”

  Seren sat up with a groan, rubbing the knot on the back of her skull. She looked at her fingers and was relieved to see no blood. Rising gingerly, she noticed no other injuries besides several bruises and some soreness where the strange roots had held her during the crash. The plants were gone now, just as quickly as they had appeared. She had survived unscathed.

  Zed lay on the deck nearby, looking dazed. Eraina knelt beside him, applying a bandage to the bleeding gash on his forehead. Pherris lay on the deck as well. His right arm had already been splinted.

  “Are you injured, Seren?” Eraina asked, looking at her in concern.

  “I don’t think so,” Seren said.

  The same, unfortunately, could not be said of Karia Naille. The airship had come to rest at the bottom of a narrow gorge, leaving a deep gouge behind her. The lower strut that once held the ring of fire in place now lay cracked and broken nearby. Tristam knelt beside the hook at one end, studying it while Omax hauled debris and sorted it into a pile. Of the elemental fire that once surrounded the ship, all that was visible was a weak blue plume of crackling fire drifting from the upper arm. Sparkling motes of energy periodically separated themselves from the plume and drifted away on the wind. Seren had the impression the fire was slowly dying.

  But what truly drew Seren’s attention was the woman who now sat cross-legged on the upper strut. She was thin and petite, with long pointed ears and a rounded, childlike face. Long, golden hair hung loose over her b
are shoulders. She wore a short dress of pale green that seemed woven of thin leaves. Her eyes were closed in quiet concentration and she kept both hands plunged into the elemental fire. It appeared to do her no harm.

  “Don’t disturb her, Miss Morisse,” Dalan said from the cabin behind her. “She’s the ship’s only hope of ever flying again.”

  Seren looked back at Dalan. The fat guildmaster’s cabin was a mess. Books and trophies had spilled haphazardly from the shelves. Strangely, Dalan paid the mess no mind. He sat on his bed. His old dog lay limply beside him, whining plaintively and gasping for breath. Dalan sat beside it and petted it with a worried frown. Seren stared for a long time. Dalan showing such concern for his pet was almost more surprising than the strange woman sitting atop the ship’s strut. It was more genuine emotion than she had ever seen in the man. Dalan noticed her scrutiny, leaned forward, and gently pushed his cabin door closed. Seren looked back up at the woman on the arm, feeling like an intruder for witnessing Dalan in such a state.

  “Who is she?” Seren asked.

  “Aeven,” Zed said, sitting up a bit, hissing with pain, and quickly lying down again. “She’s a dryad.”

  “Dryad?” Eraina asked. “How is that possible? Such trickster spirits are bound to trees. They cannot leave their forests.”

  “You know nothing, paladin,” Aeven said in a soft voice, never opening her eyes. “The livewood is a tree that never dies unless burned to ashes. Even when cut, it continues to live though it ceases to grow. For a dryad bound to such a tree, this can be both blessing and curse.”

  Seren’s eyes moved to the ship’s figurehead. The delicate sculpture remained improbably unharmed by the crash. It was the perfect likeness of Aeven.

  “Among my people I was a druid,” she said. “The soul of Eberron resonates within me, and I longed to see the world beyond Aerenal. A human sailor offered me a chance to leave my home, cutting and shaping my tree in my image. I was to protect his vessel.” Aeven paused, a pained look flickering across her face. “They proved to be wicked men, with savage appetites. Ashrem d’Cannith saved me from their clutches. He gave me a new home on Karia Naille. This ship is my forest now.” She opened her eyes and looked down at Eraina, her gaze a pure and depthless green.

  “Dryads don’t like being called tricksters, Eraina,” Zed said with a half-smile. “Especially after they save your life.”

  Eraina’s face darkened in shame. “I apologize, Aeven,” she said. “I meant no insult.”

  Aeven only tilted her perfect chin, gave Seren an inscrutable look, and closed her eyes again. Seren had the sensation that the shimmering blue flame was watching her.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Seren asked, looking helplessly at the crippled ship.

  “Help Tristam,” Zed said.

  “I don’t really know anything about fixing airships,” she said.

  “No, but you can make him focus,” Zed said, drawing a sharp breath as Eraina tightened the bandage around his left leg. “He’s been broken up since the crash, but he’s more confident when you’re around, Seren. If he can’t focus, you’re going to have to get him focused for all our sakes.”

  “You’re beginning to sound as manipulative as Dalan,” Seren said.

  Zed smirked. “Dalan has nothing on me.”

  Seren climbed over the rail and dropped lightly to the ground. She stepped back from the ship and examined the damage. The airship looked relatively unharmed save a few patches where the outer hull had been stripped away and the shattered arm. Tristam appeared almost instantly by her side, looking down with a worried expression.

  “Seren, are you all right?” he asked, interrupting the question she had been about to ask. “Eraina said you hit your head.”

  “I’m fine,” she answered, offering a soothing smile. “Zed and Pherris look worse than I do, and I think Dalan’s dog is hurt.”

  “You’re worried about Gunther?” Tristam asked with a chuckle.

  Seren shrugged.

  “Compassion is that which separates warriors from heroes,” Omax said quietly, dropping another load of debris in the pile.

  Tristam gave the warforged a look, then grinned back at Seren. “Don’t mind Omax. He gets philosophical.”

  Seren studied the crippled ship again. “The damage doesn’t look as bad as I thought it would,” she said.

  “Airships are mostly made of soarwood,” Tristam said. “It’s naturally buoyant in the air, so with a good pilot a crash is usually something you can walk away from. Usually.”

  “Will it fly again?” Seren asked.

  “She, not it, Seren,” Tristam said. “Ships are always ‘she.’ And I don’t know. The hull just needs some patching, but the keel arm snapped right off.”

  “What is Aeven doing up there?” Seren asked, pointing up at the dryad.

  Tristam frowned uncomfortably. “Honestly, I’m not sure. She has some sort of connection with the elemental bound to Karia Naille. With the damage the ship has taken, the elemental could have become unbound and returned to its home plane—or worse yet, stuck around and killed us all. Aeven has convinced the elemental to remain for a while, but even she can’t keep it here forever.” Tristam ran one hand through his unkempt hair as he surveyed the wreckage.

  “Convinced it?” Seren asked.

  “Elementals don’t belong in this world,” Tristam said. “An airship can bind one and harness its power, but a dead ship can’t hold an elemental anymore.” He sighed. “That’s not even considering that Karia Naille will just collapse under her own weight if we leave her lying on her hull too long. She’s designed to be buoyed in the air, not lying on rocks. We need to get her up on some sort of hoist or scaffolding so that I can finish the repairs and replace the keel strut. It wouldn’t take long to get her airworthy enough to limp to a real city for proper repairs, but we don’t have the materials or the manpower to do it.” The artificer offered Seren a hopeless look. “I don’t know what to do, Seren.”

  “You kept the ship together long enough for Pherris to land,” she said. “That’s what’s important, Tristam. You saved us. We’ll figure out the rest.”

  He smiled thankfully, but said nothing.

  “Something is coming,” Omax said, standing up abruptly. The warforged’s glowing eyes fixed on the far end of the gorge, along the deep rut the crashing airship had left behind.

  Fearing that Marth’s soldiers might have found them, Seren reached for her dagger. Tristam’s wand was already in his hand. After several moments the sound of heavy footfalls could be heard. Seren thought that they were hoof beats at first, given their speed and volume, but the rhythm was wrong.

  A cloud of dust rolled around the corner of the gorge, heralding the arrival of a half dozen large, bipedal lizards. Each was the size of a small horse, their hides a pale gray slashed with brilliant green stripes. Their yellow eyes were catlike and intelligent. Their grinning maws were lined with razor-sharp teeth. Small forearms hung close to their bodies. Each thickly muscled leg ended with a single sharply curved talon. The creatures wore leather harnesses on their backs, and upon each sat a halfling rider. They dressed in wild outfits of dark leather and bright silk, with thick crystal goggles to protect their eyes from dust. Each carried a quiver of short javelins on his back. The riders fanned out in a half-moon formation as they approached the fallen airship, each rider coming to a halt in perfect unison a hundred feet away. Twelve sets of eyes watched them alertly for any sign of hostility.

  “Halfling hunters,” Tristam said. He did not make any move toward them, but neither did he put his weapon away.

  A loud shriek rang out from above, followed by the leathery flap of wings. Blizzard landed gracefully between the crew and the halflings, his injured wing now healed by Eraina’s magic. From the glidewing’s back, Gerith greeted them with a broad smile.

  “These six fine fellows are elite clawhunters from the Ghost Talon tribe,” Gerith said, hopping from his saddle and indicating them with a broad
gesture. “This is their leader, Koranth, who will take us to meet Chief Rossa. I believe he’s a distant cousin of mine, but it’s difficult to be sure. My bloodline is somewhat … tangled.”

  “Color me surprised,” Seren said.

  Koranth looked at Seren, then at the dagger in her hand. He barked something at Gerith and pointed at her.

  “Put your weapons away, please,” Dalan said, climbing down the gangplank to join them. “If you antagonize the Ghost Talons, they’ll only increase the fee for their aid. I fear they’ll already be charging a great deal, given our obvious desperation.”

  “Sorry,” Seren said, bowing her head pertly to Koranth and sheathing her dagger. Tristam put his wand away as well.

  The halfling scowled and said something unintelligible.

  “Koranth only speaks a little bit of your language, unfortunately,” Gerith explained. “The others speak only the halfling tongue.”

  Dalan spoke to Koranth in the same high-pitched, rapid language, finishing with a formal bow. Koranth gave a small salute and eyed Dalan suspiciously.

  “Dalan, I didn’t know you spoke my tongue,” Gerith said.

  “I don’t,” he said. He tapped the soft black cap he now wore. “Tristam’s work. It gives me a rough understanding of their speech. It tends to place words poorly in context, stumbles with regional dialects, and is utterly confounded by slang, but it’s better than nothing.” He continued speaking to Koranth in the halfling language again.

  The two spoke for some time, with Gerith often stepping in to explain when Dalan or Koranth misunderstood each other. Dalan made a loud comment and gestured back each of the crew members in turn. There was obviously some attempt at humor in his introductions, for Koranth’s sour face broke into a smile and his fellow hunters laughed out loud. Seren wondered what he had said but was more impressed with how expertly he had said it. In mere seconds and without truly knowing their language, d’Cannith had brightened their hostile mood and earned their respect.