Rise of the Seventh Moon: Heirs of Ash, Book 3

by Wulf, Rich

  “And where are Zed and Eraina?” Pherris asked, looking at the elf again.

  “They were being killed by Marth, last I saw,” Shaimin replied, shrugging.

  “What?” Gerith asked, looking from Shaimin to the others. The little halfling was devastated. “No …”

  “I cannot believe we are even entertaining this option,” Pherris said, glaring from Dalan to Tristam. “The only thing we are certain of is that he cannot be trusted.”

  “I’m with Captain Gerriman on this one,” Ijaac said gravely. “Even if the elf’s telling the truth, he’s already turned on Marth. In my experience, anyone who would betray his allies once will just as quickly do so again.”

  This was quickly becoming boring. “Your ham-fisted analysis of my character is a waste of time,” Shaimin said. “Master Xain, do we have a deal or not? If you don’t wish to aid me, perhaps Captain Draikus would be willing to offer his assistance.” The elf turned back toward the bay doors, where the boarding ladder still dangled over the road.

  “No, wait,” Tristam said, holding out one hand. “Captain, I’m not asking for Shaimin to stay any longer than needed to direct us to Fort Ash. It won’t be more than a few hours. I don’t even plan to let him out of sight.”

  “If it helps at all, my apology was quite sincere,” Shaimin said. “I realize how trite it is for an assassin to tell you his attack was nothing personal. Matters of life and death are always personal to those involved. However, I truly meant you no undue harm.”

  Pherris stepped directly before the elf, looking up with his hands on his hips. “No,” the captain said. “You threatened me because I was small, old, and weak. You threatened me because you were in a position of power and wanted to use me to get to Tristam. You would have killed me for no other reason because it was easy to do so.”

  Shaimin frowned.

  “Well, think of this, elf,” Pherris said. “You’re a long way up, and this is my ship. You may think you’re clever. You may think you’re even immortal—but you’re the one who’s weak here. If you endanger any member of this crew or even think about turning on us, Omax will hurl you over the side. I promise you, d’Thuranni, as strong as you think you are … he is stronger.”

  Shaimin felt the sudden looming presence of the warforged behind him. The elf tried not to look uncomfortable. The constructs always unnerved him. Perhaps it was their lack of soft places to drive a dagger into if things went poorly. The elf counted himself lucky that he did not actually intend to betray Karia Naille’s crew—at least for now. He had no desire to fight the massive Omax. A heavy three-fingered hand gently clamped over Shaimin’s shoulder.

  “This way, please, Master d’Thuranni,” Omax said coolly, leading him to the upper deck.

  The crew gathered on the ship’s upper deck. The gnome climbed into his perch on the helm to watch Shaimin. Tristam paced in the bow, eyes searching the vast forest to the west. The halfling huddled in the corner next to his glidewing, hugging his knees to his chest in shock.

  “Don’t believe what he says, Gerith,” Pherris said. “Don’t believe anything he says.”

  “Now I know why Ashrem recruited zealots, sycophants, and criminals instead of heroes,” Shaimin said. “Dalan, your crew is altogether too sensitive for this sort of business.”

  Dalan shrugged and tucked his hands into his pockets. He sat on a barrel near his cabin door with a grin. Shaimin wondered if d’Cannith was enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of not being the most distrusted person aboard the ship.

  “Well, we’re all here now,” Tristam said. “Tell us what you know, Shaimin. Which way do we go?”

  “And I am an elf of my word,” Shaimin said. “Turn your bearing northwest and stay parallel to the road by one mile. We should see his fortress in due time.”

  “Aye,” Pherris said, turning to the ship’s controls. Karia Naille turned smoothly and soared off in the appropriate direction. “Master Snowshale, if you wouldn’t mind scouting ahead?”

  The halfling nodded somberly, climbed onto his glidewing, and soared off over the forest.

  “Truth be told, I’m a great deal more interested in the other information you offered,” Dalan said. “You said you knew where Marth planned to strike first.”

  “Sharn,” Shaimin said.

  “Khyber,” Tristam said. “Of course.”

  “Sharn?” Ijaac repeated. “Is he after Norra?”

  “If he is, that’s not his main goal,” Tristam said. “Sharn exists in a manifest zone, an area where the planes border very closely upon one another. The city’s connection to Syrania allows its artificers to build towers and floating structures that would otherwise be impossible.”

  “If Marth activated the Legacy there, it could cause the entire city to collapse,” Dalan said.

  “Why would he do that to all those people?” Pherris asked, horrified.

  “Because he has become a madman,” Shaimin said. “He blames the surviving nations for the fate of Cyre. He believes the peace that now occupies Eberron to be an aberrant state. He wishes to reignite the War. The deaths he would cause in Cyre would only be the beginning of something much larger.”

  “As insane as it sounds, it would work,” Dalan said grimly. “Sharn is a symbol of Brelish power, prestige, and prosperity. Were the city suddenly to be inexplicably destroyed, the entire kingdom of Breland would be thrown into chaos. The people would demand blood, demand vengeance, even if they weren’t sure exactly who was at fault. Old suspicions would flare into violence. The warmongers would have their day. Someone would be blamed—most likely Thrane, Aundair, or Karrnath. War would be upon us again.”

  “I hope my motivations are somewhat clearer now,” Shaimin said stiffly. “Your personal opinions about my house and profession are irrelevant here. What kind of monster would I be if I condoned the murder of an entire city?”

  “That isn’t going to happen,” Tristam said. “We aren’t going to let Marth do this.”

  “Your defiance is admirable,” Shaimin answered, “but have you given any thought to what we intend to do when we find Fort Ash? The forest teems with undead, Marth’s guards have us terribly outnumbered, and then there is the matter of the Seventh Moon.”

  “We’ve defeated the Moon before,” Pherris said.

  “Narrowly,” Dalan added. “I don’t understand how Marth could have repaired her so rapidly. Tristam, didn’t you say you destroyed her elemental containment?”

  Tristam nodded. “Marth must have removed the Dying Sun’s core and moved it into the Moon,” he said. “The Sun’s core really isn’t sufficient to deal with a ship that size. The Moon won’t be nearly as fast as we’re used to.”

  “Small favors,” Pherris mumbled.

  Tristam stopped pacing and looked directly at Shaimin. “How many undead did you see in the forest?”

  “Dozens, at least,” Shaimin said. “Corporeal and incorporeal. They were apparently original residents. Marth has bound them to guard the forests beyond the fortress.”

  “No,” Tristam said. “That’s impossible. Marth’s magic is powerful, but he’s no necromancer. He may be able to erect a ward to keep them out, but there’s no way he could command them to guard his fortress. Some of them would eventually wander off to seek prey.”

  “Maybe they want to stay,” Ijaac said. “Remember, those ghouls at Zul’nadn haunted that temple for centuries.”

  Tristam scratched his chin thoughtfully. “It’s possible,” he said. “I could see Marth using something like that to his advantage. I just wish I had some idea what sort of spells and infusions he used to produce that kind of effect.”

  Shaimin coughed softly and took the Cyran badge from his pocket. He had intended to keep it for himself, just in case things went sour and he was forced to escape again. If Xain could put it to good use, perhaps he would never need escape in the first place. “Marth’s guards wear these,” Shaimin said. “As long as they remain near the road, whatever spells protect the fortress ext
end over them as well.”

  Tristam eagerly took the badge from Shaimin, examining it for several moments. “This is very similar to the amulets the ghouls wore in Zul’nadn,” he said, amazed. “Instead of drawing upon ambient magical energy to bolster negative spirits, it draws upon it to repel them. Marth probably fashioned these after studying the undead in the Frostfell. I need to study it. It may give us the edge we need.” He hurried below deck.

  “I’ll be in my cabin,” Dalan added, turning and opening the door. “Wake me if you need me. Or when things start catching fire.”

  Shaimin sauntered toward the rear of the ship, doing his best to ignore the adamantine shadow that followed him. He glanced to his left and noticed Seren Morisse sitting on the ship’s railing, watching him quietly.

  “Is there something I can do for you, Miss Morisse?” Shaimin asked, giving her an arch look.

  “Did it really bother you so much?” she asked.

  “Whatever do you mean?” he answered.

  “Were you really so upset that you couldn’t kill Tristam that you had to give it one last attempt to prove that you could before you could ask for our help?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Shaimin said, leaning back against the wall and lacing his fingers across his stomach.

  “Don’t you think that’s a little childish?” she said. Her dark eyes burned with quiet, steady anger.

  Shaimin couldn’t help but grin. “Of course,” he said. “But you must understand something, Seren. In my line of work, I have nothing more than my pride. Wealth is nothing. What use is political prestige to a killer? Maintaining a good reputation, while crucial, means very little if an assassin’s confidence wavers.”

  “So you had to prove that you were Tristam’s equal?” Shaimin asked.

  “Oh, I was always Tristam’s superior,” he said. “I could have killed the boy at any time. You were always the obstacle, Seren.”

  “What?”

  “You are quite lethal when you need to be,” the elf said. “Fired by your love of the boy, you fight quite fiercely. Sadly, when weakened by concern for him, you are vulnerable. Your killer instinct is somewhat delicate, too hampered by compassion. All the same, you have my respect. You have a great deal of potential.”

  “As an assassin, you mean,” he said.

  “Or a spy, informant, or even a simple thief,” Shaimin said. “With your looks and natural talents, you could be utilized in any number of intriguing endeavors.”

  “Why would I want to be any such thing?” she asked.

  “Why wouldn’t you?” Shaimin asked with a dark chuckle. “Imagine complete freedom from everything save the thrill of the hunt. As long as you perform adequately, your deeds will be well shrouded from the eyes of the law. There are worse fates, Seren. Such a life is not an option for everyone.”

  “No, thanks,” she said.

  Shaimin shrugged. “I predicted you would say no,” he said. “The memories of our past battles are still too fresh. You require emotional distance. Please give it some time. When you change your mind, I have already forwarded your name to House Thuranni. Should you ever seek training, contact Baron Elar in Regalport. He will see to you.”

  Seren said nothing. She glowered at the elf.

  “The choice is yours, naturally,” he said, “but there may come a day when you regret denying such an opportunity.”

  “I’ve found it!” Gerith shouted. The wicked crack of his mount’s wings announced the halfling’s arrival on the deck. He pointed. “Straight ahead, there’s an opening in the forest. I saw the Seventh Moon.”

  The ship soared higher over the trees. Below them, the stone fortress was now barely visible.

  “Don’t come at them directly,” Tristam said, hurrying back up from below deck. “Stay low over the trees or they’ll see us as well.” His face was pale and the hand that still held the Cyran badge trembled. “I think I have an idea. Pull as close to the road as you can, but don’t let them see us just yet.”

  Pherris nodded.

  “Seren, Omax, Shaimin, come with me,” Tristam said. “We’re going down there. Pherris, I’ll send up a signal when we’re ready to get out of there.”

  “Be careful, Tristam,” Pherris warned.

  “We might need some additional distraction,” Tristam said.

  “Aeven will do what she can,” Pherris said.

  “Why so nervous, Xain?” Shaimin asked as he followed the artificer into the hold. “If you’re afraid that whatever plan you’re come up with won’t work, tell me now. I’ve no interest in going in there only to be chased out again.”

  “That’s just it,” Tristam said, opening the cargo bay doors and lowering the ladder. “I’m afraid that it will work, but I couldn’t think of any other way to overcome Marth’s numbers.”

  They climbed down the ladder, dropping to the beaten road below. Shaimin looked around for any sign that they had been seen, but he saw nothing. He didn’t like the idea of walking back into Marth’s fortress when they had an airship at their disposal, but from what he could discern while aboard Karia Naille, it didn’t even have weapons. How did they defeat the Seventh Moon in such a vessel?

  “So I presume you want me to lead you inside?” Shaimin asked.

  Tristam looked back at the assassin coldly. “Honestly, Shaimin, I don’t care,” he said. “You’ve already told us everything we needed to know. I just wanted you off my ship. Follow us and help if you want, or just stay out of our way.”

  Tristam hurried off along the road, searching the trees for something as he ran. Shadows blanketed the trees as the sun began to set. While twilight offered cover, this was no place that Shaimin wished to be caught outside at night. Seren and Omax followed him. The warforged stared at Shaimin silently for a long moment. Though he couldn’t read the metal creature’s expression, he couldn’t help but feel that the creature pitied him. What a curious thing. A ravenous growl deep in the woods behind him threw Shaimin back into action. He hurried to catch up with Tristam.

  Though the trees grew thinner as they approached the fortress, the forest grew darker. Catching a glimpse of the sky through the treetops, Shaimin saw dark clouds boiling above. A growl of distant thunder sent the forest’s upper limbs shivering.

  “Storm should give us some cover,” Shaimin observed. “Fine timing for it.”

  “Funny, isn’t it?” Tristam answered with a smirk.

  Shaimin looked at the sky again. It certainly had all the marks of an unnatural storm. From what he had seen, Tristam was certainly not powerful enough to command the weather. That only left someone still aboard the airship. Apparently there was more to Karia Naille than he had suspected. Intriguing.

  They gathered at the edge of the forest, away from the road. The gates of Fort Ash loomed to their right. Seren was studying the walls, looking for a safe place to climb. Since his earlier escape, Shaimin noticed that Marth had posted guards along the battlements.

  “Not sure if I could hit him cleanly with a knife from here,” Shaimin said, studying the closest guard. “Even if I did, I can’t guarantee he wouldn’t cry out for help before dying.”

  “No one asked you to kill anyone,” Tristam said. He reached into his coat, took out a small bottle, and handed it to the warforged. “Omax, do you think you could throw that far enough to break on the wall near that guard? It’s very fragile so it should break easily.”

  Omax gauged the distance and shook his head quietly. He picked up a rock from the ground, smeared it with mud, and stuck the bottle to the side to give it enough weight for a proper throw. He hurled the stone at the wall, where it landed on the battlements with a faint tinkling. A plume of barely visible pink smoke could be seen. The guard quickly marched over to investigate the sound, stumbled, and fell unconscious on the wall.

  “Perfect,” Tristam said.

  Omax absorbed the praise without comment. He uncoiled the thick rope and grappling hook that he carried over his shoulder, hurling them over the wall. The h
ook caught with a clank, and Omax tugged to make certain they had purchase. Seren quickly climbed up the rope, followed by Tristam, who had slightly more difficulty.

  “You are next,” Omax said, looking at Shaimin.

  “After you,” the elf replied.

  “I am the heaviest,” Omax said. “I should go last, in case the rope does not hold.”

  Shaimin regarded him suspiciously.

  “Best climb before the rain begins and slicks the rope,” Omax said. “Or before the ghouls arrive. Your flesh would suit their tastes better than mine, I think.”

  Behind them, the slavering sounds of curious undead grew slowly closer.

  “Fine,” Shaimin snapped, climbing up the rope. There went his last hope of quietly sneaking away. While the elf accepted that he needed Tristam and the others to stop Marth, he had hoped merely leading them here would be enough. He didn’t relish the idea of being so close to a former assassination mark for long. It was simply unprofessional. Those sorts of people always held a grudge, and even Shaimin couldn’t watch his own back forever.

  When Shaimin reached the top, he found Tristam crouched at the inner edge of the wall, studying the courtyard intently.

  “What are you looking for, Tristam?” Seren whispered.

  “Trying to find the focus of the ward network that protects Fort Ash from the undead,” Tristam said. “It offers some protection to the road as well, so it must be visible from the gates.”

  “There,” Shaimin said, pointing. “It would be just like Marth to use that as a symbol of protection.”

  “Of course,” Tristam said. He concentrated on the enormous Cyran crest that hung above the fortress gates. “That crest is radiating a powerful abjuration dweomer. I can sense it, even from this far away.”

  “So what happens next?” Shaimin asked.

  “Be ready,” the artificer said, looking at the sky. “This will be tricky. After the soldiers are distracted we’ll need to rush aboard the Seventh Moon. Hopefully we can destroy the Legacy before Marth can escape.”