Flight of the Dying Sun (Heirs of Ash book 2

by Rich Wulf

  “Me?” Seren asked, confused. She felt an itch in her side. She moved to scratch it, but her father gently pulled her hand away, clasping it in his own. She felt confused, as if she was forgetting something.

  Her father’s hand tightened. “Seren, I’m proud of you,” he said. “You’re a young woman now. You’re a hero, much like I wanted to be.”

  “A hero?” she asked, confused.

  Memories blurred through Seren’s mind, visions only half-remembered. She saw a ship surrounded by a ring of blue fire. She saw a pale figure with a shifting face, hunting her. She saw a kind young man with sandy hair. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes were troubled, but when he noticed her, he smiled.

  “You don’t belong here, Seren,” her father said. “You aren’t needed here.”

  She closed her eyes. “I’m tired, Dad,” she said. “So tired. It’s harder than I thought it would be.”

  “It always is,” he said.

  “I don’t know if I can keep fighting,” she said. “I’m not strong enough.”

  “You’re stronger than you think” he said. He smiled. “And you’re not alone anymore.”

  “I miss you, Dad,” she said.

  “Don’t,” he said. “I’m never far away.”

  The village melted from view, and Seren’s head swam. Her vision blurred as the memories fell back into place and sorted back into reality around her. She opened her eyes blearily, finding herself lying on an overstuffed bed. It was Dalan’s cabin, slouched with thick bookcases and a disorganized desk covered with paperwork. Tristam slumped on a stool next to the bed, arms folded tightly, chin propped against his chest as he dozed. Tristam’s homunculus perched on the edge of the desk. The lumpy clay man looked up with shimmering golden eyes as Seren stirred. It quickly turned and poked Tristam with the sharp end of a pencil, causing him to jerk from his nap and nearly fall backward off his seat.

  “Wha?” he said, blinking in confusion. “By the Host, Seren!” This time he did fall in a confused tangle of limbs. He quickly regained his composure, staggering into a kneeling position beside the bed. He impulsively reached for her but stopped several inches away.

  She looked at him, surprised. “Tristam,” she whispered.

  “How are you?” he asked, nervously glancing at the bandages bound around her waist. “I mean, you were out for days with fever. Are you still hurt?”

  She laughed and wrapped her arms around Tristam, pulling him close and kissing him soundly on the mouth. She felt a faint twinge from her side but didn’t particularly care. She pulled away to look at him. He stared back with a broad, stunned grin.

  “I was so worried,” Tristam said. His voice was thick. “We were all worried,” he added quickly. “Even Dalan volunteered his cabin before he stayed behind in Stormhome.”

  “Sorry to be a burden,” Seren said weakly. She felt drained. Her side still ached where the assassin’s blade had twisted inside her. But she felt whole. She was healing. Eraina was probably to thank for that.

  Tristam laughed. “Never a burden, Seren,” he said. “You saved my life. There’s something I want you to see.” He stood, offering his hand to her.

  Seren looked at him curiously, then accepted, letting him lift her from the bed. Despite his lean frame, he was much stronger than he looked. When her legs wobbled and failed to support her, she leaned into him.

  “Don’t forget this,” she said, taking his wand from the homunculus and handing it to him. She looked at the weapon curiously. “It looks different. I don’t remember these quartz crystal settings.”

  “You noticed?” he asked, blushing slightly. “It’s new. I incorporated some of the things I learned from the Cannith libraries in Korth with my own theories. I think the overall calibration of the arcane matrix …” he stopped, noticing Seren’s polite but confused expression. “I’ll tell you about it later. Like I said, I have something to show you.”

  He pulled a thick felt cloak over her shoulders and opened the hatch. A sudden burst of freezing air and brilliant white light filled the room, making Seren gasp. She squinted at Tristam suspiciously, but he only smiled and led her out onto the deck. All around them, the world shone a brilliant blue. The sea stretched beneath them, a field of sapphire studded with chunks of ice like white diamonds. Above them, the sky was pure and clear. The sun hovered above them, a pale white flame. It was as if the whole world was made of crystal—pale, cold, and serene. A thin dusting of wet frost covered the deck of the Karia Naille, but it melted as soon as it set due to the ship’s flaming elemental ring.

  “I always see you sitting at the rail whenever we go somewhere new,” Tristam said. “I didn’t think you’d want to miss this. Even Gerith has never seen this place before.”

  Seren had no words. She was awed by the beauty of the Frostfell. She moved to the bow of the ship. Tristam stayed near, offering his support.

  “It does my heart good to see you up and about, Miss Morisse,” Pherris said from the ship’s helm. “We were somewhat overdue for good luck, I think.”

  “Good morning, Captain,” Seren said, smiling at the old gnome. Pherris’s goggles were partially frosted. The little man was thickly bundled in wool and furs.

  “It’s almost midnight, actually,” Zed said from where he stood at the opposite rail. His usual bulky coat was supplemented by a fur cloak and a thick scarf. “The sun doesn’t ever seem to set around here. Maybe it doesn’t bother, since there’s no one here to see.”

  “It has to do more with the angle of the sun relative to the world’s axis,” Tristam said. “The angle of incoming radiant energy also has a major impact on the climate, creating perpetual winter …”

  “Save it, Tristam,” Zed said, holding out a hand. “I know how it works. I just like my explanation better. If you want to put your knowledge to good use, do something about this cold.”

  “I already have,” Tristam said. “The elemental is already warming the ship considerably. It should be much colder than this.”

  Zed looked slightly sick. He returned his attention to his pipe.

  Pherris chuckled to himself. “Considering the number of things you take in stride,” he said, “I find it amusing that something as simple as cold weather bothers you so much, Master Arthen.”

  “Nothing simple about it,” he said. “I spent the first six years of my service to Thrane stationed at Flame’s Refuge in Thaliost. The north winds would come right down the Scions Sound and freeze everything in their path. In the middle of winter you could spit off the top of the dam and hear it shatter when it struck bottom.” He took the pipe from his mouth and exhaled a long plume of smoke. “I did everything I could to get transferred out of that place, but the bastards kept promoting me. I ended up the master drill sergeant before I got called away.” He smirked. “Took a miracle to get me posted somewhere else.”

  “You were a drill sergeant?” Tristam asked, laughing.

  “You find that funny, Xain?” Zed asked sternly.

  “Yes, actually,” Tristam said. “It explains much.”

  The inquisitive gave Zed a long, humorless glare.

  “The winds are strong and untamed,” said Aeven’s cool voice. The dryad was perched in her customary place by her figurehead. Her green eyes were clear and alert, showing none of the weakness that had overcome her in Stormhome. “I have importuned them to be merciful, and they have complied. Even so, the journey will be rough. A lesser vessel would not survive this journey. I only hope I can maintain the wind’s favor.”

  “Do all that you can, Aeven. I have faith in you,” Pherris said.

  “Did the winds say anything about Lemgran’s Fellmaw?” Zed asked with a dark chuckle.

  “Zed, please,” Pherris said. “We can worry about such things when …”

  “They did,” Aeven interrupted. “They whisper of a storm born long ago, a storm that will not die. It is a thing of fury and hunger. It hunts the mortals who drew it to this world, unaware that they are long dead. Its rag
e is reserved solely for the monks of Zul’nadn, but it will ravage any other life it finds so long as it cannot hunt them. The Fellmaw moves swiftly, but the winds will warn me of its approach. It is there.” She pointed at the eastern horizon. The faintest flicker of green light reflected in the sky there. “I believe we can avoid it.”

  “Then that’s more good luck,” Pherris said, relieved.

  “How do we expect to find one person in all of this?” Seren asked, looking out at the frozen waters. “All of this ice and water looks the same.”

  “Norra Cais is using Ijaac Bruenhail’s charts,” Tristam said. “His brother Lemgran’s maps are an exact copy. So we’re following the same course she did, just higher up. If we keep on this heading, we’ll find her eventually.”

  “Seren?” came Eraina’s sleepy voice. The Marshal stepped out of the lower hold, blinking as her eyes found the light. Her eyes were hollow with exhaustion. She shivered in the unaccustomed cold. “You’re awake?” the paladin said. “I’m glad to see you have finally recovered.”

  “Thank you, Eraina,” Seren said quietly. “For everything.”

  The paladin smiled faintly. Behind her, Omax emerged onto the deck. He gave Seren a careful look, bowed his head respectfully, and looked past her, eyes studying something in the sky above.

  “Halfling incoming,” he said, pointing.

  A shrill caw sounded above them and Blizzard landed on the rail with a heavy thud. The glidewing’s chest heaved desperately. The creature gratefully climbed down onto the deck as Gerith rolled out of the harness, covered head to toe in thick furs and leathers. He rubbed the back of his steed’s neck and whispered something in his native tongue. The glidewing cawed gratefully and scrambled off into the galley, seeking warmth.

  “How did the ointment work, Gerith?” Tristam asked.

  “Great,” the halfling said, gasping for breath as his mount did. “Kept most of the cold off him, though he’s still not happy about the thin air. He can’t fly very long out there.”

  “Welcome back, Master Snowshale,” Pherris said. “Did you find anything interesting?”

  The halfling pulled off his thick goggles and blew on his hands, trying desperately to warm himself. He held up one reddened finger as he collected himself, letting his breathing grow regular. After a few moments, he pointed off to the west. “That way,” he said between labored breaths. “I found Norra Cais’s ship on the shore, but it’s in bad shape.”

  “Bad shape how?” Seren asked. She didn’t like such a tone of trepidation from the usually fearless halfling.

  “The ship is beached,” Gerith said. “Lots of bodies on the ground. I didn’t see much more … I was inclined to keep my distance until I got help.” Gerith looked at Tristam nervously. “I don’t think you’re going to like what we see.”

  Pherris grumbled something under his breath and worked the ship’s controls, causing the ship to bank and veer to the west. Beneath them, the ice flows began to grow larger and more frequent. The occasional spire of a glacier broke the waves. Ahead of them, the Frostfell gradually shifted from frozen water to frozen earth. The crew fell silent as they saw what awaited them. Where the sea met the land, a ship lay scuttled upon the frozen beach. Its mast was shattered and half its hull was torn away. Bodies lay scattered about the ice on pools of bright red frost.

  “Captain, put us down a safe distance away,” Tristam said, his voice unusually steady.

  “I’m not even going to attempt to land in this forsaken place,” Pherris said, “but I’ll get you close enough to take the ladder down.”

  “That will do,” Tristam said.

  “Have a care, Master Xain,” Pherris warned. “Whatever destroyed that ship may still be down there.”

  Tristam frowned. “Then we’ll deal with it,” he said.

  The gnome nodded silently. The airship turned in a slow arc, circling down toward the frozen earth. The elemental ring burned clear white, leaving a plume of sparkling steam as the ship descended. Seren adjusted the knife at her hip and reached for one of the thick coats lying folded in a crate near the galley. She caught sight of Tristam watching her with a pensive expression.

  “You aren’t going down there, Seren,” he said softly. “You’re still hurt.”

  “Trying to protect me?” she snapped at him, though the weakness in her voice was obvious.

  “Yes,” he said. His eyes were intent. “For once, would you let me?”

  Her sharp retort died in her mouth. She nodded wordlessly. Tristam blinked, seeming surprised by her agreement.

  “Probably best that I remain here as well,” Eraina said. “My energy is at a low ebb, and I would like a chance to make certain Seren is fully recovered.”

  “Fair enough,” Tristam said. “Zed, Omax, Gerith, come with me.” He climbed down the ladder back into the cargo hold, pausing only to glance up at Seren one last time.

  “Be careful, Master Xain,” Pherris said. He nodded at the tiny woman huddled in the front of the ship. “Aeven does not like this place. I have learned to be wary when she is wary.”

  “I will,” Tristam said. “I’ll be back.” He offered Seren a reassuring smile and disappeared into the hold.

  FIFTEEN

  Omax had already opened the bay doors and lowered the ladder. Tristam pulled a thick furry coat over his shoulders and wound a woolen scarf around his face before climbing down. The cold wrapped around him, seeping through the thick layers of clothing, numbing his flesh. He gasped sharply, but his thoughts on the matter were quite aptly summed up when Arthen landed next to him, loosing a trail of expletives unlike any Tristam had heard in his young life.

  Omax hopped down from the ladder, regarding Arthen with interest. In addition to his usual soft woolen cap and loose trousers, Omax had donned a thick felt cloak to keep the harsh wind out of his joints. A faint, warm haze emanated from his metal skin.

  “What?” Arthen demanded from within his small mountain of furs.

  “I am uncertain how to react, other than to be impressed,” the warforged said. “I was not even aware that a few of those conjugations existed, or that you spoke the hobgoblin tongue.”

  “Cold weather makes me creative,” Arthen growled. “I don’t know how I’m going to fight in this, if we have to. I guess I’ll just snap off pieces of myself and throw them.”

  Gerith alighted next to them. Blizzard’s wings shivered visibly. The glidewing’s pure black eyes held an even more dangerous gleam than usual.

  “How can your mount even survive in this, Gerith?” Zed asked. “Aren’t reptiles cold-blooded?”

  The glidewing snapped angrily in Zed’s direction, coming away with a piece of his sleeve. Arthen quickly backed away, grasping his hands as if making certain his fingers were intact.

  “Not a lizard,” Gerith said. “This way.” He pointed with two fingers before whistling and taking to the air again.

  They trudged forward across the frozen earth. The snow was hard and crusty beneath their feet, more like gravel than the soft powder more common in Khorvaire. There was no sound save their footsteps and a baleful wail as the wind raced over the earth and sea. The dead ship was easy to find, a mass of black wreckage on the white plain. The bodies of the crewmen were scattered in a wide area around the vessel. Zed knelt by the first one they encountered, two hundred yards from the ship. He pulled up his goggles to investigate more thoroughly.

  “Impossible to tell how long he’s been dead, frozen like that,” Zed said in a low voice. “Claw marks deep in his chest, like some sort of huge animal. Whatever it was, he died terrified. Didn’t even bother to draw a weapon.” The inquisitive looked at the ground between the ship and the corpse. It was mostly flat and even. The corpse lay at the end of a shallow groove in the snow. “No trail, and no fresh snow. The body was thrown here, all the way from the ship.”

  “If there are survivors, we must find them,” Omax said.

  “Aye,” Tristam agreed.

  “I found some tracks,
” Gerith said, landing nearby. “Some kind of creature, something big.” The halfling scratched his nose nervously.

  “Tell us the rest, Gerith,” Zed said carefully.

  “The tracks lead into the ship,” Gerith said, “but they don’t come back out.”

  “Damn it,” Zed hissed. He pulled the heavy sword off of his back, struggling to pull it out of its scabbard with his thick gloves.

  “Careful Zed,” Tristam said, leading the way slowly. “We don’t even know if a sword will help.”

  “It makes me feel better,” Zed retorted.

  Tristam nodded, admitting the point. He reached into his coat and drew out his wand before proceeding. They moved closer to the ship, finding many more bodies like the rest. They were scattered like forgotten toys, savaged by claws and left lying in the snow. A large cavity gaped in the side of the ship, where she had been cracked open and torn apart. Large sections of the ship were now encased in pure ice. The ground was gouged and torn around her hull. Deep claw marks pierced the wood in several places. The mast was cracked and the sails hung in limp shreds. It looked as if the entire ship had been hauled onto land and crippled as her crew was methodically killed.

  Tristam realized then that he was trembling. Something about this dead ship, this carnage frozen in time, terrified him. There had been no defense. There was nothing these people could have done to save themselves. Yet somehow he found his voice.

  “Is anyone there?” he called out, his voice echoing over the icy plain.

  Zed winced at the echo and held his sword ready.

  “Is anyone alive?” Tristam added.

  A long, reptilian snarl resounded from the depths of the ship, making Tristam take a step back. Omax moved in front of his friend, his heavy metal fingers clenching into fists. A red light pulsed within the cavity on the ship’s side, illuminating a pair of faceted black eyes. A long, slender head emerged from the darkness, like an impossibly enormous centipede. Segmented antennae swayed from its brow and upper mouth, curling in the air as they tasted the scent of intruders. A pair of gossamer fins spread from the back of its head and down its long neck, pulsating with a faint crimson light. Its body moved with sinuous grace as it emerged from the darkness, contrasted by the dozens of short, scrabbling legs that jutted from its underbelly. The creature was half the size of the ship, large enough to take any one of them in a single bite. It slid out onto the snow, casting aside a half eaten corpse with the flick of a leg. It turned, coiling on itself as it regarded the intruders warily.