by Rich Wulf
“What have you lied about, Gerith?” Seren asked.
The halfling grinned. “If you can’t figure it out, you’ll get no clues from me.”
“I cannot believe your people would embrace such dishonesty,” Eraina said.
“The halflings say the truth is like a bathtub,” Gerith said, taking no offense. “Dipping in can be quite refreshing at the right time and place, but it’s too much trouble to carry along everywhere.”
Omax laughed, but Eraina clearly did not find the analogy humorous. She sighed at the halfling and snatched her spear from the ground. “I for one don’t appreciate being lied to,” she said. “If he’ll lie to us about Overwood, how do we know he hasn’t lied to us about Marth as well? This could be a trap.”
“I know the Ghost Talons,” Gerith said. “As long as Dalan’s money is good, we can trust them. And House Cannith letters of credit are very, very good.”
“And what if Marth has made them a better offer?” Eraina asked.
Gerith frowned. “We don’t really have a choice, Eraina. This was the only settlement I could find that had the resources to help us and was anywhere close by. If we turn to anyone else for help, we may as well just keep walking because Karia Naille will never fly again.”
“If you fear treachery, Eraina,” Omax said, “then all that remains is to be vigilant.”
The paladin said nothing.
This is foolish, Dalan,” Eraina snapped. “No good will come of this.”
“A foreboding prediction,” Dalan said. He pushed aside the tent flap and peered outside, probably more out of habit than any real suspicion. Dalan had requested a private tent while he discussed the chieftain’s proposition, though he had spent much of his time arguing with Eraina. “If you disapprove so strongly of the course I have chosen, perhaps you might beseech your goddess to provide a reasonable alternative?”
The paladin regarded Dalan coldly. “You know that the Host does not interfere in such a manner,” she said. “I do not see why we have agreed to aid a man who cannot even be truthful with us.”
Seren almost laughed at that. Was there anyone in the crew other than Eraina who was truthful?
“We have agreed to aid him because we are surrounded by his warriors,” Dalan said. “I have little doubt that whatever Rossa’s interest in Kiris really is, it has nothing to do with a ring. I do not intend to expose her to him while she is still valuable to us—but Rossa need not know that.”
Eraina folded her arms across her chest, body tense as she glared at Dalan.
“I see such a statement does not lessen your disapproval, Marshal,” he said.
“If you do not intend to honor the agreement you made with Rossa, you should not have made it,” Eraina said.
“First you warn me not to trust Rossa because he is a liar, and now you are upset to hear my agreement with him is insincere?” Dalan asked with a smug grin. “Mourn not a ruin built on sand, or so it is said, paladin. Worry not for your honor, d’Deneith, you have made no promises.”
“But if I know Rossa cannot trust you,” she said, “why should I?”
“Because of your irritating talent for detecting falsehood,” Dalan said. “Have I lied to you yet?”
“Not that I can see, but my senses are not absolute.”
“Excellent. Then let us cease this bickering and decide how we shall find Kiris Overwood.”
“What exactly should we be looking for, Dalan?” Seren asked.
“Overwood herself will suffice,” Dalan said. “Tristam will need her spells to break my uncle’s ciphers. A pity he is also required to repair the airship. His insight would be useful.”
“So we intend to take Kiris with us?” Seren asked. “What if Rossa’s men guarding our ship see her?”
“A road to cross when we find her,” Dalan said.
“Then what if she does not wish to come with us?” Eraina asked.
“She will come,” Dalan said. He took an envelope from his coat and offered it to Seren. It was sealed with blue wax featuring the House Cannith crest. “If all else fails, give her this. Try to reason with her at first, if possible. I would prefer not to fulfill the promises contained therein.”
“What if Kiris is not alive?” Omax asked. “If the Boneyard is as dangerous as we have heard, and she has not emerged in weeks, she may be dead.”
“Overwood was my uncle’s most trusted confidant,” Dalan said. “I do not doubt she is resourceful enough to survive in such a place. It would be a simple matter for her to use magic to sustain herself, and I do not doubt she could find a way to protect herself from whatever horrors dwell there.”
“Horrors,” Gerith said. The halfling laughed bitterly. “What about them? You haven’t even talked about the biggest problem, Dalan. Surviving the Boneyard.”
Dalan looked keenly at the halfling. “You have known we were bound for the Boneyard since we left Black Pit.”
“No,” Gerith said. “I knew that we were going near the Boneyard. I didn’t expect that Kiris would be stupid enough to actually live there, or that we’d be stupid enough to follow her into the damned place.” From the way Gerith spoke the word, “damned” was deliberately chosen.
“Then enlighten us before we continue,” Dalan said. “What, precisely, is the nature of the Boneyard and its curse?”
“It’s a graveyard,” Gerith answered. “It’s filled with the bones of dragons as old as the continent itself. Nobody has ever seen a live dragon there. Nobody knows how the bones got there. It’s off limits for all halflings. Even the city halflings who ignore the old ways don’t take the curse lightly.”
“And what is the curse, specifically?” Dalan asked.
“Any halfling who enters will die far from home and be unmourned by his tribe,” Gerith said.
“Then nothing prevents you from guiding Seren, Eraina, and Omax there, so long as you remain outside,” Dalan said. “After all, they aren’t halflings.”
Gerith laughed nervously. “You don’t understand, Dalan. The curse is there to protect us, to stave off curiosity. With or without the curse, the Boneyard is evil. There are dead things there, things better left undisturbed. That place is dangerous.”
“We are already in a great deal of danger, Gerith,” Dalan said. “Or do you not recall our rough landing? Now will you lead us to the Boneyard, or must I rely upon one of Rossa’s guides?”
Gerith looked at Omax and Eraina before casting a long, troubled look at Seren. She offered him as encouraging a smile as she could muster.
“I’ll help,” he said. “But I don’t like it.”
“And I regret forcing you into such a decision,” Dalan said, “but we all must make sacrifices.”
“Sacrifice, d’Cannith?” Eraina laughed. “I notice you did not list yourself as one of those entering the Boneyard. What sacrifice do you intend to make, remaining here?”
Dalan met the paladin’s mocking gaze levelly. “Do not mistake pragmatism for cowardice, Marshal,” he said. “I know my limitations. I do not excel in physical arenas. I would only be a burden in a place like the Boneyard. Here, at least, I can keep a watchful eye on Rossa. I assumed that all those more capable than myself would be willing to participate, but if that assumption was incorrect, please speak up. Do any of you wish to remain here?”
“No,” Eraina said.
Omax did not reply. Strangely enough, he looked at Seren.
“Can’t turn back once you start,” Seren said.
At that, Omax silently nodded his approval.
They set out almost immediately afterward, making their way across the Talenta Plains on foot. Rossa claimed his tribe had no suitable steeds to offer humans, though Seren suspected that he did not wish to send his own animals into the accursed Boneyard. She didn’t mind walking. After spending so many days cooped inside the cramped airship, a chance to stretch her legs was welcome. The plains were broad and flat, so they made good time.
Eraina set the pace for the others, moving
with tireless energy. Gerith remained mostly airborne and out of sight, returning to adjust their course or prepare a brief meal. With each hour that passed, the halfling’s cheerful demeanor grew more subdued. Seren met the change with mixed feelings. While a part of her was relieved that the halfling had ceased his bad jokes and mischievous flirtations, she was saddened to see the cheerful little scout so depressed.
The silence of her companions only added to Seren’s sense of foreboding. Eraina was in a sour mood after her confrontation with Dalan. The warforged plodded along just behind her, hardly saying a word. That night, they pitched their tents and slept on the grass in tense silence. Early the next morning, they set out again. Seren had grown so used to the silence that Omax startled her with an unexpected question.
“What do you expect we will find?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said, slowing her pace so he walked beside her. “A lot of the world outside Wroat is still new to me. I never know what to expect.”
The warforged looked down at her. His metal face radiated concern, or perhaps she just imagined it. “If the halflings fear the Boneyard, we should be extremely cautious.”
She laughed. “Whatever frightens halflings can’t be all that scary.”
“You underestimate them,” Omax answered. “If halflings fear this place, we would be wise to do the same. Halflings are tenacious warriors. Have you ever seen Gerith shy away from danger? You have seen the way he leaps to his glidewing, hurling himself into the sky without hesitation.”
“That’s true,” Seren admitted. “Though Gerith is the only halfling I’ve really known. It’s hard for me to imagine him as a tenacious warrior.”
“Then you do not truly know him,” Omax said. “Gerith has defeated the most difficult foe with ease.”
“What foe is that?” she asked.
“Himself,” Omax said. “None of the rest of us can claim such mastery. We are all haunted by ghosts, burdened by memories of what we once were, fearful of what we might become, or driven by the impossibly high expectations of others. Most souls look outside themselves for validation. Gerith is one of the few men I have met who knows who he truly is and is at peace with that. He is the strongest of us all, Seren.” He looked at her. “And he is afraid.”
Seren was silent for a long time. “I never thought about halflings that way, but I never bothered to get to know them. I’ve never really known a warforged before either. You’re more philosophical than I expected.”
“Philosophical?” Omax asked with a rattling chuckle. “A philosopher asks the world why he exists, but I already know the answer to that question.”
“Oh?” Seren asked. “Why do you exist, Omax?”
“To kill,” Omax said sadly. “I am a weapon.” The warforged bowed his head and stared at the back of one wide metal hand, a smooth surface of adamantine and darkwood tattooed with an ancient patchwork of battle scars. “I was among the first warforged that were truly alive. Beside a legion of my brethren I led a Cyran assault against the nation of Breland. The soldiers we faced were not prepared for our power. A single platoon escaped, taking refuge in the only fortified structure they could find—a monastery of the Sovereign Host.”
“That must have been a long time ago,” Seren said.
“To me, the memories are fresh,” Omax said. “The monks gave our enemies sanctuary and would not surrender them to us. My orders were clear—those who would not surrender were to be showed no mercy. We battered down the doors and invaded the monastery … the monks offered no violence but …” The warforged’s three-fingered hand closed with a metallic clang. “They would not stand aside.”
“Omax,” Seren said softly. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”
“It was a slaughter, Seren. They were no match for us, and they knew it.” He looked at her again. His blue eyes shone coldly. She did not know what else to say, so she continued to listen.
“One of the last surviving enemy soldiers must have been a wizard or artificer of some sort. As a final show of defiance, he unleashed an explosion that gutted the monastery, burying me and my comrades beneath tons of rubble. The others perished, but I did not. I found myself trapped in silence and shadow. A warforged needs neither food, nor air, nor sleep. So for two decades, I remained there.”
“What did you do all that time?” she asked.
“Nothing but think about how I had come to be,” he said. “Until at last I saw the light again. Tristam was the one who found me and repaired me. He gave me back my life, and this time I did not make the same mistake.”
“To be a warrior?” Seren asked.
Omax shook his head. “No,” he said. “To be a warrior is a worthy task, to fight with honor for a cause. That is not what I was. I was created with the power of choice, Seren. Though I am a machine, intended to be a weapon, I was somehow given the potential to become something more. Instead, I chose to obey blindly because it was the easier path. When I looked into the eyes of those monks, I saw the truth too late. Any crude weapon can take life away. When I refused to find a better way, I chose to be less than I could be. I squandered the gift I had been given, and I squandered the lives of those men and the warforged who followed me. Tristam gave me a second chance. I know what I was meant to be, Seren, but I do not wish to be only that.”
“You still sound like a philosopher to me,” Seren said. “You know the answers, but now you’re looking for a new question.”
He glanced at her sharply. His blue eyes flickered. “Yes,” he said in an amused voice. “That is exactly so. You have a keen mind, Seren. I can see why Tristam admires you.”
“Me?” she said. “He’s barely spoken to me since we left Black Pit. He’s been obsessed with his work.”
“Tristam has difficulty allowing others into his life,” Omax said. “Yet he cares for you, Seren. Remember that it was only after Dalan commanded you to join him that Tristam volunteered my aid.”
Seren blinked at Omax in surprise. She realized that the warforged had not wandered far from her side since leaving Karia Naille. Even during their meeting with the halfling chieftain, he had remained as close to the tent as he dared. “Tristam sent you to protect me?” she asked, sounding a bit outraged.
“It seems that way,” Omax said. “I think my efforts will be largely wasted. You appear quite capable of protecting yourself.”
Seren laughed and smiled up at Omax, but the warforged’s blue eyes were locked straight ahead. She followed his gaze to find that Gerith had landed atop a hill. Eraina was already kneeling beside the halfling, shielding her eyes from the sun as she studied the distant horizon. She hurried to join them.
“Well, there it is,” Gerith greeted them in a hushed voice. “This is as far as I go.”
Beneath them, the grassy plains gradually gave way to a valley of chalky white, nestled just against the mountains. Chasms and gorges crisscrossed the surface, creating a maze of shadowed stone. Large white shapes broke the ground here and there, occasionally curving into a fearsome claw or a narrow skull with empty, staring eyes. The creatures that once owned these bones must have been truly immense if such detail was visible even from here.
“A graveyard for dragons,” Eraina said, crouching low as she scanned the area for danger. “Your people were right to be wary of this place, Snowshale. Boldrei warns me that there is evil here.”
“You needed Boldrei to tell you that?” Gerith asked, stunned.
The paladin ignored the halfling.
“Are there still dragons here?” Omax asked.
“No,” Gerith said. “Nobody’s ever seen a live dragon here, though if you ask me that isn’t very reassuring. I’d almost rather meet a dragon than whatever frightens the dragons away.”
“Or whatever they abandoned here,” Eraina said.
“I’ll wait in this area,” Gerith said, glancing from one of them to the next helplessly. “Are you sure you don’t want to turn back? If you want to tell Dalan we didn�
��t find anything …” His words died away when he saw Eraina’s unflinching glare. “Right then,” he said. “I guess lying is out.”
“We’ll be careful, Gerith,” Seren said.
“When you’re ready to leave, or if you get in any trouble, fire one of these,” Gerith said, offering a half dozen thick, cloth-wrapped tubes to Seren. “Tristam made them. Break them in half and the air will ignite them. They let off a bright light and explode in a cloud of smoke. I’ll see them, day or night.”
“Thanks, Gerith,” Seren said, tucking the tubes into one of her pouches. “We’ll be careful.”
“See that you do,” the halfling said. “My story won’t be any good without its heroine.” He smiled weakly, then tugged at his glidewing’s reins. Blizzard hopped into the air and spread its wings with a crack, soaring away over the plains.
“Where do we start?” Seren asked, staring out at the vast expanse. “It’s larger than I thought it would be. Overwood could be anywhere.”
“Then it doesn’t matter where we start,” Eraina said, starting off down the hill.
Seren followed, with Omax bringing up the rear. When they drew closer, Eraina knelt in the thinning grass. She knelt to pick up a fragment of white stone, then stared out at the bleached expanse with wide eyes. “The ground is bone,” she said, gingerly setting the fragment back down. “The entire valley is paved in fossilized bone.”
“There is no wind,” Omax observed. “This place is undisturbed by the elements. I can see why the halflings would find this place unnatural.”
“Let’s find Kiris and leave,” Seren said.
The others had no argument. They continued onward, the gentle slope of the plains becoming a steep incline. The scattered bone fragments became thicker until they covered the area like loose shale. Combined with the steep incline, the path became treacherous. Seren was forced to kick loose bone away with each step she took, seeking purchase underneath. The sounds of clattering debris resounded into the valley, making Seren wince.
Omax pitched forward as the ground cracked noisily beneath his feet. His right leg sank into the surface up to his thigh, sending a ripple of scattered bone outward. Seren felt the ground pitch beneath her. Knowing there was little she could do, she leapt forward into a roll rather than fight for balance. She tumbled down the valley wall, grunting as the rough surfaces gouged her arms and legs. She finally tumbled to a halt and, finding nothing broken, came to her feet again. She stood in a forest of larger bone fragments. Broken skulls and hipbones lay like fallen boulders. Enormous ribs and claws reached for the sky like spectral trees, crisscrossing in a ghastly canopy. Spires of bare stone erupted from the bone in places, painted with bizarre sienna patterns. The air was still and musty with the faint taste of lime.