by Wulf, Rich
“Marshal!” Dalan called out. “Arthen! Someone help!”
“Dalan!” came the reply. Zed Arthen ran around the far side of the wreckage toward him. The others followed. They appeared mostly unharmed, though Tristam had lost his crutch and leaned on Omax for support.
“We have to get away from the wreck before the dragon comes back,” Ijaac said. “Can we move Pherris, Eraina?”
“Don’t rush me,” the paladin said, kneeling beside the fallen gnome. Tristam limped up beside her, digging through his pockets for any potions that might help.
Wait. Dalan looked at the group again. One was missing.
“Aeven,” Dalan said, looking around desperately. “Where is Aeven?”
“The figurehead,” Zed said, running toward the burning half of the ship. “She can’t leave her tree behind!”
Ijaac and Omax followed. Dalan looked around desperately for any sign of the dragon. That he saw nothing worried him even more. They needed to leave more quickly than this.
And then the prophet was among them.
The dragon appeared with startling speed, blocking Zed’s path. The inquisitive lifted his sword, but Zamiel knocked him aside with a swipe of his claw. Omax charged fearlessly, but the dragon slammed his claw down upon him heavily, driving him into the ground.
Dalan felt the dragon’s aura of fear wash over him, and he huddled among the wreckage, clutching his shattered pick.
Ijaac swung at the prophet with his morningstar. The weapon made a noisy crack as it struck Zamiel’s claw. The dragon winced, snatched the dwarf up, and threw him away to one side.
There was nothing left to do, Dalan realized as he leaned back amid the scattered wreckage. They had lost.
Eraina ran at Zamiel, hurling her spear and trying to lead him away from Pherris. The dragon batted the weapon from the air with its forearm and strode lazily toward her.
Dalan noticed his back was uncomfortably warm. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened. He was leaning against a thick column of black crystal—Karia Naille’s elemental core. The guildmaster grinned.
Dalan leaned close to the ship’s core, pressing one hand against the crystal. The surface was cracked and pitted, but still solid. It felt uncomfortably warm. With his other hand, he took up the broken halves of his pick. He focused the power of his dragonmark. The weapon became whole once again.
The dragon snatched Eraina from the ground in one claw, grinning eagerly as he listened to her scream in pain.
Listen to me, Dalan focused the thoughts in his head as he pressed one hand against the glass. Aeven is in danger. We are all in danger. Now is your chance to fight.
Tristam fired a bolt of lightning from his wand, striking the dragon in the back. The dragon turned, glaring hatefully down at the artificer. Its chest puffed out as it took in a deep breath.
Dalan brought the pick down hard on the cracked core. He wasn’t a strong man. He didn’t expect such a thing to break in a single blow—but he didn’t know the strength of the elemental fighting to get out. As soon as the pick struck the glass he leaped aside, narrowly avoiding the blast of searing heat that issued forth. He rolled across the thick grass, dousing the flames that singed his robes.
A plume of roaring blue flame billowed out from Karia Naille’s broken hull, washing over the dragon. Zamiel roared in pain and irritation, dropping Eraina. The elemental screamed as it burned the dragon’s flesh. The prophet hissed angrily and fled into the sky.
“Khyber, what just happened?” Zed asked, watching the flaming dragon soar away across the sky. He staggered to Eraina’s side.
“No time to worry about that,” Dalan said, running toward the flaming half of the ship. “We need to gather everyone and get out of here. Help me save Aeven’s figurehead!”
Zed found the figurehead lying on the ground near the burning ship. The wood was cracked and scorched from the crash, but otherwise unharmed. Aeven lay in the grass near it, barely breathing. Zed heaved the heavy statue over his shoulders while Dalan picked up the slim dryad. She weighed almost nothing, as delicate as the winds she commanded. After relying on her magic so many times to save them all, it was strange to see her so helpless now.
They returned to find the others still alive, though badly injured. Pherris was still not moving, and Ijaac was unconscious as well. Omax, as usual, looked oblivious to any damage he had taken. They gathered up their wounded and fled into the night.
But as they ran, Dalan felt Aeven stir against his chest. He looked down to see her eerie green eyes staring into his own.
“Karia Naille thanks you, Dalan d’Cannith,” she whispered. “She will return to her sisters soon.
Dalan kept running, carrying the dryad in his arms.
THIRTY
Seren could still hear Zamiel’s defiant roars somewhere high above them. The ship’s elemental was probably no match for a dragon, but with luck it would give them time to escape.
Every one of them was helping someone else who was injured or unconscious. Eraina carried the captain’s limp body. Dalan still held Aeven while Zed hauled her livewood figurehead. Omax carried Ijaac and even Seren helped Tristam limp along, his crutch lost somewhere in the crash. They had to find a place to hide. They wouldn’t find one on the plains—so they ran into the Boneyard.
The ancient bleached bones crunched beneath their feet as they ran. Seren’s eyes scanned the shadows for any sign of the creatures that had attacked them on their last visit. There was nothing.
“There!” Zed said, pointing at a hollowed bone cavern beneath a large ribcage, filled in with centuries of shifting dirt and withered vegetation. “We can regroup there.”
They hurried inside. Tristam pulled away from her at the mouth of the cave, stopping to draw a pouch from his coat. He threw a handful of dust on the ground and whispered a quick transfusion. The dust swirled over the cavern mouth, forming an illusionary wall that matched the bony landscape.
Once she was safe inside, Seren collapsed in the corner. She hugged her arms against her chest and fought the urge to scream. How could things have gone so badly? The image of brave little Gerith flying out alone to delay the dragon replayed itself over and over in her mind.
“Is everyone all right?” Tristam asked.
“Pherris is badly injured,” Eraina said. Her left arm hung limp and bloody, but the paladin was more concerned for the gnome’s injuries than her own. She set Pherris gently on the ground and removed her cloak, rolling it into a pillow and tucking it beneath his head.
“Will he live?” Zed asked.
“I do not know,” Eraina said. She clasped her blessed octagram in one hand as she leaned over Pherris, summoning the healing power of Boldrei. “We should not have moved him.”
“I do not think Ijaac is badly injured,” Omax said, putting the heavy dwarf beside the captain.
“Let’s hope,” Zed said, leaning the figurehead against the back wall. “How is Aeven?”
“Badly stunned but otherwise all right,” Dalan said. The guildmaster knelt, placing the dryad on the ground near her statue. He moved with extreme care, as if he feared she might shatter.
“Move me near Pherris,” the dryad said. She pointed at the captain with a trembling hand. “I can help heal him.”
Dalan nodded and lifted the dryad, moving her to the captain’s side.
“What do we do now, Tristam?” Seren asked.
“I … don’t know,” Tristam said.
Seren felt despair wash over her. She hadn’t felt this helpless since the night Jamus died. They had done their best but had accomplished nothing. The Mourning Dawn was gone. Gerith was dead. Pherris and Aeven were nearly so. Ijaac was too badly injured to fight. The prophet was too powerful.
“The Timeless stirs,” Omax said, looking out toward the Boneyard.
“We can’t stop it now,” Tristam said. “We can’t close the veil without the Legacy.”
“You closed the Dragon’s Eye without the Legacy,” Omax said.
“I had Norra’s artifact then,” Tristam said. “It was designed to react to the Legacy’s energies and turn them upon themselves. If I had more time, I could build something similar, something attuned to that unique power signature.”
“What about me?” Omax said.
The warforged waited for an answer. Tristam stared up at his old friend silently.
“I still carry a small fraction of the Legacy,” Omax pressed. “Can that not be used to your purposes?”
“Maybe,” Tristam said. “I could alter the magic that binds you to the Timeless. If you got close enough it would turn the manifest zone upon itself, just like we did at Zul’nadn.”
“Then let us do so,” Omax said.
“Omax, what you’re suggesting is incredibly dangerous,” Tristam said. “The resultant energy could tear you apart—or even destroy the entire Boneyard the way Zul’nadn was destroyed. Except this time we don’t have an airship to make our escape.”
“Is there any other way?” the warforged asked.
Tristam frowned. “No,” he said.
“Then let us hurry,” Omax said.
The artificer stepped toward Omax, placing one hand on the warforged’s chest. He spoke words of arcane power under his breath as he channeled his magic into the warforged, altering the enchantments that animated Omax. After a few moments, it was done.
Omax turned to leave.
“Everyone else stay here,” Tristam said, limping awkwardly after him.
Seren moved beside Tristam, pulling his arm around her shoulders.
“Seren, no,” he said. “This is too dangerous.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she chided him. “You can barely walk.”
“I’m coming too, Xain,” Zed said. “Will you be all right here, Eraina?”
The injured paladin nodded. She drew her attention away from her patient for a moment, looking up at Zed with clear eyes. “May Boldrei and the Flame fight beside you,” she whispered.
The inquisitive smiled.
Seren was surprised to see Dalan still carrying a scorched pick he had found somewhere in the wreck. The guildmaster clutched his weapon tightly as stood guard over the wounded. He noticed her attention and looked at her sharply.
“Go, Miss Morisse,” he said. “I’ll stay and watch over them.”
“Good luck, Dalan,” she said. She stepped away from Tristam and hugged Dalan impulsively. He stood stiff in confusion for a moment before embracing her in return.
Dalan d’Cannith’s face split in a rare, sincere smile.
“Go finish this, Seren,” he said.
The four stepped through the illusionary wall into the Boneyard. The dragon’s roars had faded, though the sky rumbled with the approaching storm. The entire area was eerily silent. Zed drew his blade with a metal hiss.
“This way,” Omax said, leading them deeper into the canyon.
Seren followed the warforged. Tristam leaned heavily upon her, his foot still badly injured. His eyes stared straight ahead, glazed and unfocused.
“Tristam?” she whispered.
The artificer said nothing.
“Angry, Xain?” Zed asked.
“That’s something of an understatement,” Tristam said.
“Good,” Zed said. “You’ll need that. Staying angry is more useful than giving up. We’ll have time to grieve later.”
They pressed on as night fell around them. Fortunately, with so few cities in the Talenta Plains, the skies were so clear that ample moonlight and starlight illuminated their path. The ancient bones that loomed around them shone a faint blue.
“Stay alert,” Seren whispered watching the bones around them. “There were monsters here when we came looking for Kiris.”
“I wouldn’t worry about them,” Zed said. “Dragons are fiercely territorial. Zamiel probably frightened them off.”
“You have a way of putting people at ease, Arthen,” Omax said.
The inquisitive chuckled.
The pass they followed through the bony ruins took a sudden turn to the left. Seren peered around the corner. The Boneyard opened into a large clearing, lined with draconic skeletons larger than any she had seen before. In the center of the clearing, a ball of brilliant blue flame seethed in midair. Seren felt a strange sensation as she stared into its depths, as if part of her was forever falling into something vast and infinite.
“I hope that’s what we’re looking for,” Zed said.
Omax nodded. His eyes now shone the same color as the flame.
Seren noticed the stars flicker as a shadow passed overhead. She grabbed Omax’s arm, stopping the warforged as he began to move forward. The ground shook as a heavy shape struck the earth in the clearing. The dragon landed with his back to them. His broad copper wings fanned the night air. Many of his scales were blackened, but he was otherwise unharmed by his battle with the elemental. The dragon took no notice of them, leaning low to stare into the flame.
“What must I do?” Omax asked.
“Just touch the fire,” Tristam said. “The rest should work itself out.”
“Will we have time to run or will this be like Zul’nadn?” Zed asked.
“I don’t know,” Tristam said. “I’m not even sure it will work.”
“So we don’t need to beat Zamiel,” Seren said. “Just distract him long enough for Omax to touch the flame.”
“Wait here, Omax,” Zed said. “We’ll circle around and distract him.”
“Hurry,” Omax said. “Not much time remains.”
They made their way back into the maze of bones. For several minutes they picked their way around until they reached another pass that entered the clearing. They were at the dragon’s left side now. Zamiel still stared patiently into the blue flame, front claws cupped around it. Seren felt the urge to run, to cower and hide until the prophet went away. She began to tremble. Tristam, still leaning against her for support, shook as well.
“Dragons radiate magical fear,” Tristam said. “I’m not sure what to do about that.”
“Same thing we do about the regular sort of fear,” Zed said, hefting his sword. “Try not to think about it. Tristam, you’re no good to us with that leg. Stay here and back us up at range.”
Zed charged first, but Seren was faster. She darted in toward the dragon, drawing her daggers. The dragon wheeled about the moment she entered the clearing, looking down at her with dull hatred. She barely dodged aside as its claw drove into the ground, shattering rock and bone. She hurled her dagger at the dragon’s face. It stuck harmlessly in his right cheek, like a pin lodged in a piece of thick wood. Zamiel did not appear to notice.
Zed was behind her, slashing at its arm with a heavy blow from his sword. His sword gleamed white as it struck, and the dragon hissed in pain. It pulled away, blood streaming over its claw.
“Paladins,” the dragon growled. “Always paladins.”
Zamiel reached for Zed, but a silver bolt of lightning from Tristam’s wand scorched his injured hand. The dragon roared in irritation, lumbering toward Tristam. Behind him, Omax dashed into the clearing toward the flaming sphere. As he reached the edge the dragon turned suddenly, lashing out with his tail. Omax was hurled backward across the bony plain. The dragon rounded on him.
“Idiot warforged!” Zamiel roared. “I can sense your connection to the Timeless as clearly as you sense mine. Did you believe you could thwart me? I have planned this for centuries.”
Zamiel pinned the warforged to the earth with one claw and leaned close, taking in a deep breath. Omax reached out and snatched Seren’s dagger from his cheek, slashing it across the dragon’s eye. Zamiel roared, his acidic breath spraying randomly across the clearing. Zed lunged toward Seren, grabbing her as he rolled, ducking behind an outcropping of bone as the deadly breath washed over them.
She risked a glance around her cover and saw Omax rushing toward the flame. His body steamed from the dragon’s breath; the adamantine plates that covered his left arm were fused and melte
d. The dragon recovered itself just as Omax reached the fire. It lashed out with one claw just as Tristam fired another burst of lightning at his face. The dragon’s claw impaled the warforged. Seren thought she saw Omax’s fingers touch the tip of the fire, but she wasn’t sure.
Nothing happened. Omax lay beside the flame, pinned to the earth by the dragon’s claws. The blue light in his eyes flickered and went dim. Zamiel looked at the rest of them, a slow grin spreading across his face. His remaining eye shone with malevolent green light. Zamiel’s chest swelled as the dragon inhaled deeply, looking down at Tristam. He released a cloud of boiling acid over the artificer.
“Tristam!” Seren cried out.
The cloud cleared. Tristam stood unharmed. He stared up at the dragon in surprise.
Zamiel’s eye widened. “No,” he growled. “How?”
“Prophet, hold your wrath,” said a deep voice.
Omax rose slowly to his feet. Twin plumes of bright blue fire now blazed in his eye sockets. He stared at his open hands in wonder, as if seeing them for the first time. An eerie silence fell over the clearing, broken only by the distant gibbering of the Boneyard’s inhabitants.
“No!” Zamiel roared, spinning to face the warforged. “How is this possible?”
Omax tilted his head. “Is this not what you sought?” he said in the alien voice. “Is this not what you desired? To help me find an end to my solitude?”
“Yes, but I was to be the vessel!” the dragon snarled. “Me! This is my destiny!”
“I am confused,” the voice of the Timeless replied. “I thought you only wished to aid me.”
The dragon’s snarl faded. “Of course, Timeless,” he said, speaking with excessive calm. “But this one is not suitable to be your avatar. He is flawed. Imperfect. My ancestors created you—I know how to control your power.”
The warforged’s hands closed with a sharp metal click. “I do not wish to be controlled,” the Timeless said. “I wish only for an end to my solitude.”
“But you do not know this world,” Zamiel said. “You will require the guidance of one who is wise.”