Flight of the Dying Sun (Heirs of Ash book 2

by Rich Wulf

  “He has told me very little, but I know better than to question,” Tristam said. He pointed at the pulsing flame in the center of the chamber. “May I study the Dragon’s Eye?”

  The dragon reclined upon the stone, studying Tristam patiently. “In time,” he said. “Who are those other mortals upstairs? I heard you fighting the undead vermin.”

  “My crew,” Tristam said.

  “The conqueror willingly allies with paladins?” Mercheldethast asked.

  “The conqueror uses whatever tools he finds,” Tristam answered.

  “I see,” Mercheldethast said. “I would be wary of allying yourself with such beings. Their dedication to abstract purposes often restricts their actions.”

  “Understood,” Tristam said. “May I see the Eye?”

  “No,” the dragon said, exposing his sharp teeth in a grin. “I think it would be best if we waited for Zamiel’s return. I think I would be interested in hearing the details that led to your predecessor’s death.”

  Tristam fought to keep the fear and tension from his face. It was obvious that the dragon was beginning to see the holes in his poorly woven lie. Now it was only a matter of time before this Zamiel returned and exposed him. Time, unfortunately, was not something he possessed in abundance. He looked around the cavern, studying the smooth rock formations and the arcane scrawl of the Prophecy.

  With a final sigh, he sat down on the stone floor, trying to appear relaxed. Ijaac looked at him, confused. Tristam gave him a calm smile and gestured at the stone beside him. The dwarf looked uneasy, but sat, hands still tight on his morningstar. The dragon nestled his chin upon his massive talons and watched them patiently. Tristam turned his wand over in his hands and stared into its crystal depths.

  “Please don’t contemplate anything stupid,” Mercheldethast said. “I doubt you could do much more than irritate me with that mortal toy. If you wish to die, please, wield your magic against me. I am highly resistant to such clumsy forms of magic.”

  “Odd that you claim to have such low regard for mortals,” Tristam said, looking at the dragon.

  The dragon said nothing.

  “You serve Zamiel, don’t you?” Tristam said. “He is mortal.”

  “Flaunting your ignorance is a poor idea,” Mercheldethast said. “Perhaps you should remain silent.”

  Tristam looked into the dragon’s eyes. He watched him with a bored, predatory gaze. Somewhere, far above, he could hear the sounds of fighting again. He looked at Ijaac. The dwarf’s lip curled in a weak smile. He nodded imperceptibly at Tristam. Whatever the artificer was planning, the dwarf was ready to go along with it. Anything was better than waiting here to die.

  Tristam flipped the wand end over end in his hand. The dragon watched him, one eye twitching in anticipation. Tristam caught the wand by one end, balancing it between his fingers. The dragon watched intently, waiting for Tristam to attempt using his magic. Tristam grinned and spoke a word of command, unleashing a bolt of golden lightning into the ceiling above the dragon’s head. At the same moment he passed Norra’s silver sphere to Ijaac.

  “Hurry,” Tristam whispered.

  The dwarf nodded.

  Mercheldethast roared as debris exploded down upon his head. He flapped his wings frantically, clawing at the ice and stone. He roared, more in outrage than in pain. White steam roiled from his nostrils. Though Mercheldethatst had been confident in his ability to resist Tristam’s magic, the ceiling was not quite so invulnerable. Tristam ran to the left, away from the Dragon’s Eye, firing another blast at the ceiling and raining more debris upon the dragon. Ijaac dove to the right, holding his mace to light the way through the swirling dust.

  The dragon shook himself violently, shrugging off much of his burden. He turned with a snarl. Tristam ducked as a massive claw sliced the air, shearing off a chunk of his cloak. Tristam hurled a vial to the ground, erupting in a cloud of smoke and light as he retreated quickly away. The dragon surged forward. Tristam edged toward the hole in the ceiling where he had fallen and let himself slip as the dragon’s claw shot out again. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Mercheldethast had torn the opening wide enough to climb out. If only he had a chance to scramble through, just a moment’s distraction, the beast would be unable to follow him through the narrow tunnel.

  A deathly rumble echoed through the cavern. On the walls, the Prophecy’s glowing script became shot through with sick green energy. Mercheldethast stopped, his eyes narrowing into angry slits. The dragon’s head whipped around. Ijaac Bruenhail stood beside the Dragon’s Eye. The Eye’s energy flickered and pulsated erratically. The dwarf looked up at the dragon in sheer terror.

  “What have you done, dwarf?” Mercheldethast roared, his voice exploding through the halls of Zul’nadn.

  “Run, Tristam!” Ijaac shouted. “Run now!”

  Tristam looked back. The way was clear. He had his chance.

  Mercheldethast’s tail swept through the tunnel, striking the dwarf and throwing him back against the wall. Ijaac cried out in pain and collapsed, morningstar toppling from his hands. Then Tristam was there, white fire lancing from his wand into the dragon’s side. Mercheldethast hissed as the force of the blow singed his perfect flesh, made his knees buckle. He rounded and glared at Tristam, surprised at his strength. He reared his head as he took a deep breath. Tristam scattered a handful of dust in the dragon’s eyes and rolled between his legs as he coughed a cloud of searing frost through the cavern. The breath became a scream as the acidic powder burned the dragon’s eyes.

  “Stupid boy,” Ijaac growled as Tristam ran to his side. “Thank you.”

  Tristam grinned and pulled the dwarf to his feet, holding his arm to help steady him as they ran. Ijaac grabbed his morningstar, and they ran as the dragon turned again. Tristam blasted Mercheldethast with his wand again, causing him to rear back reflexively. They dashed madly toward the hole in the ceiling, their escape into the ruins in sight. The dragon flapped his wings, scattering rock and debris with a violent wind. Tristam felt his legs betray him as the rough slope collapsed under his feet. A cloud of smoke rolled through the gap in the ceiling, robbing them of even their last glimpse of freedom.

  Tristam reached out toward nothing as he fell. He would die here, and no one would ever know how or why. He only hoped that he had done enough, and that the others would escape.

  Then two blue lights shone through the smoke. A three-fingered metal hand clasped Tristam’s arm. Tristam tightened his grip on Ijaac as he was hauled upward into the temple. A tall figure sculpted of adamantine and darkwood stood before him, wearing a shapeless woolen hat. It was Omax, his body whole and strong once again.

  “Omax,” Tristam whispered. “How?”

  “Seren told me where to find you,” he said. “We must hurry from here. The Fellmaw is coming.”

  “That’s the least of our problems,” Ijaac said, running past the warforged and down the hall.

  “Run,” Tristam explained, pulling on his friend’s arm.

  Omax nodded, following Tristam. Behind them, a frenzied roar echoed from the caverns, followed by an explosion of ice and stone. Tristam looked back and saw Mercheldethast’s blunt head ram through the floor, followed by two talons, tearing at the walls as the dragon tore the gap wider, pulling himself into the hall. The creature was sleeker than he looked, sliding into the wide halls, if only just. He ran toward them, teeth bared in fury.

  “Khyber,” Ijaac swore. “It just gets worse.”

  Omax turned, fists clasped to his sides. “Go,” he said.

  “Right,” Ijaac said, running.

  Tristam stood by the warforged, wand in hand. The dwarf ran on for several steps before stopping, looking back with a shamed grimace, and returning to join them. The dragon bore down on them, bracing his claws against the walls and collapsing a pillar as he drew back his head for a breath. Omax leapt at the creature, clubbing him across the face with a powerful two-fisted punch. Mercheldethast’s head snapped back, frozen breath spr
aying erratically into the ceiling. Omax darted in under his head, wrapping one arm around its neck and repeatedly driving his other fist into the bottom of its throat.

  The dragon hissed and grasped at the warforged’s back with one claw. Tristam fired another bolt of white flame, blackening the dragon’s face. Ijaac ran forward and brought his morningstar down on the dragon’s other claw. It deflected with a harmless metal clang. The dwarf shrugged at Tristam and quickly backed away.

  Mercheldethast shrieked in pain and humiliation, finally tearing Omax away from his bleeding throat and hurling him away. The warforged rolled into a crouch next to Tristam. The dragon retreated several steps as he drew its breath again. Tristam fired his wand, this time blasting the weakened ceiling between himself and the dragon. A mass of stony debris fell just as the beast breathed, instantly frozen in place by Mercheldethast’s icy breath. A biting wind washed over them, followed by a frustrated roar as the dragon vainly sought to claw through the mess and pursue them.

  They broke into a run again, heading frantically for the exit. Tristam nearly fell as he burst into the courtyard, a savage wind almost driving him off his feet. A cacophonous clash of thunder filled the courtyard. He could see the sky had darkened beyond Zul’nadn’s gaping maw. Dark clouds seethed and burned with green lightning. In the midst of the growing storm, just beyond the wide skull mouth, a familiar ring of blue fire burned.

  The gurgling shriek of ghouls erupted around them as they ran across the courtyard. Shambling figures erupted from the shadows, seeking to intercept them. Tristam’s wand blasted several off their feet. Omax seized one as he ran, lifting it bodily and hurling it into another pack. More fell into pursuit behind them, but a flurry of crossbow bolts from Karia Naille’s deck dropped several more. Tristam seized the rope ladder beneath the airship’s swaying hull, climbing as quickly as he could. Ijaac was right behind him, eyes wide and terrified as he tried very hard not to look down. Omax brought up the rear, knocking the last of the ghouls away with a powerful kick as the airship pulled higher into the sky.

  “Welcome home, Xain,” Zed said, grabbing the artificer’s hand and pulling him into the cargo hold with a grin. Norra Cais stood just behind him, watching with a pensive expression. “Good work,” the inquisitive said.

  “I don’t think we’re done yet,” Tristam said, turning to help Ijaac climb inside.

  “What do you mean?” Norra asked. “Did you fail to destroy the Eye?”

  “Nay, it’s destroyed,” Ijaac said, helping the warforged climb aboard and hauling the ladder inside as the bay doors closed. “Its guardian was none too pleased.”

  “The dragon,” Tristam said. “We slowed him down, but he’s angry.”

  “Khyber,” Zed swore, closing the bay doors as Omax climbed inside. “Pherris, they’re aboard!” he shouted. “Get us out of here!”

  A powerful whine surged through the airship as she accelerated. Tristam hurried to the upper deck, stumbling with the movement. The others all waited there. Pherris was at the controls, gray hair streaked with sweat, eyes intent on the boiling storm. Seren ran to his side, her eyes bright. He embraced her with a relieved smile.

  “Thank you for sending Omax,” he said.

  “Thank Norra,” Seren said. “She fixed him.”

  “She did?” Tristam asked, surprised.

  “The storm is getting worse!” Gerith shouted, rolling out of his saddle as Blizzard landed clumsily on the deck. “Blizzard can’t fly in this!”

  “We won’t be able to, either, in a moment,” Pherris said.

  Beneath them, the eyes of Zul’nadn shimmered brilliant green. Deep cracks shot through the skull and the earth trembled with a fury that matched the thunder. Large chunks of the ruin began collapsing inward, leaving only inky darkness behind. A white dot separated itself from the ruins, soaring up out of the eye on broad, bat-like wings.

  Mercheldethast.

  “Being trapped between a living storm and an angry dragon is only the latest in a series of uncomfortable experiences you have introduced to my life, Master Xain,” Pherris said with his typical exaggerated calm. “All the same, it is good to have you back. Do you have any recommendations?”

  “The Fellmaw sees us,” Aeven said. She stood at the railing, green eyes staring out into the swirling storm. “It comes for us.”

  Beneath them the dragon grew larger, flying directly toward them at incredible speed.

  Tristam looked at the dryad urgently. “You can talk to the storm?” he asked.

  “I can,” she said. “It is consumed with pain and madness. It thirsts only for revenge. There is no reasoning with it.”

  Tristam reached into his pocket, an idea forming in his head. “Does it still hunger for the servants of Xoriat?” he asked. “The mortals that summoned it here?”

  “Above all else,” she said.

  “Gerith, do you have your crossbow?” Tristam asked.

  “Of course,” the halfling said, surprised by the question.

  “Lash this to a bolt and be ready to loose,” he said, handing Gerith something. “Pherris, turn us into the storm.”

  “Into the storm?” Pherris asked, incredulous.

  “Do it!” Tristam barked.

  The gnome looked at Tristam in amazement, then nodded. “Oh, why not?” he said. “Not as if we can be more doomed.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Ijaac said, huddling behind a crate and trying not to look over the rail.

  “Aeven, talk to the Fellmaw,” he said. “Tell it that we wish safe passage. In return, we will guide a powerful servant of Xoriat into its clutches.”

  Aeven looked at Tristam suspiciously but nodded. She closed her eyes for a long moment, then nodded. “It is done,” she said. “The storm says it will show us mercy, but if you lie, your torment will be exquisite, your flesh shorn by rain, your bones crushed by sleet, your organs burned by the fires of …”

  “I get the point,” Tristam said. “Now, Pherris, let the dragon catch up with us—just as we get near the storm.”

  The gnome’s shaggy brow lifted at that, but he nodded.

  “Gerith, be ready,” Tristam said.

  The halfling nodded, already taking position at the rear of the ship.

  The yawning vortex of the Fellmaw screamed before them, all churning snow and searing lightning. Behind them, Mercheldethast sped toward them. Soon the dragon’s wide silver eyes and grasping talons were visible, but when he realized that they were flying directly into the Fellmaw he paused, his laughter resounding through the storm.

  “You would murder yourselves to escape me, mortals?” Mercheldethast roared. “So be it!”

  “Now, Gerith,” Tristam said.

  The halfling took aim and loosed. His bolt flew true through the savage winds, sticking neatly into the wound in the dragon’s throat. Mercheldethast twisted his head to look, barely catching a glimpse of the Xoriat amulet that now dangled around his throat.

  The airship disappeared into the heart of the Fellmaw. Mercheldethast turned in midair, trying to escape. Claws of lightning, ice, and wind descended upon the dragon. In the final instant, Mercheldethast turned to pursue them, though even the dragon’s considerable might was nothing compared to the storm itself.

  Karia Naille shuddered as the Fellmaw embraced her. Mercheldethast vomited a cloud of searing frost that coated the back of the ship, causing her to buck dangerously. A claw of green lightning raked across the dragon’s flesh, blackening its side.

  “No!” the dragon roared, the anguished shriek of destiny forever denied.

  Another burst of lightning vaporized the dragon’s left wing. The winds carried the dragon’s flailing body away. Again and again electricity sizzled into the dragon as he tumbled helplessly through the storm. The mindless hatred of a thousand-year storm bore Mercheldethast away to be consumed in a mindless vengeful tempest. Tristam watched with wide eyes, stunned at the power he had unleashed upon Zul’nadn’s eternal guardian.

  Mourning Daw
n flew on.

  TWENTY

  The churning green clouds retreated into the distance as the ship lifted higher into the sky. It looked as if the raging storm had calmed, if only slightly.

  “The Fellmaw is satisfied with our offering,” Aeven said. The dryad’s pretty face was twisted in a scowl. “Such lies taste sour in my mouth, Tristam.”

  “I’m sorry, Aeven,” Tristam said. “The dragon wouldn’t have let us escape. It was necessary.”

  The dryad stared at him for several moments, cool green eyes unflinching.

  “It is not like you to say such things, Tristam,” she said.

  “There wasn’t any other way, Aeven,” he said.

  She looked away, returning her attention to the sky.

  Tristam gripped the rail for support as the excitement of his escape faded. A sudden wave of fatigue overtook him. Omax’s hand gripped Tristam’s arm, supporting him. Seren moved to his side, looking at him with concern.

  “I’m fine,” he said, pulling away from them both. “I just need to talk to Norra.”

  “She’s in the spare cabin,” Zed said.

  Tristam nodded. He noticed Eraina standing just behind the inquisitive, watching him with a solemn, unreadable expression.

  “What did you find down there, Tristam?” the paladin asked.

  “I really don’t know,” he said as he climbed down the cargo bay ladder. “I’m hoping Norra can give me some answers.”

  Tristam hopped down and moved toward the long corridor beyond the cargo bay. The first hatch on his left was open. Norra sat on the small cot within, massaging her splinted leg with a pained expression. Tristam knocked softly on the hatch frame, drawing an irritated look from her.

  “Save your breath and tell your paladin to mind her own business,” Norra said. “My injuries are not so grave that they won’t wait until a real healer can attend me in Stormhome.”

  “Wasn’t going to bother,” Tristam said, stepping inside and sitting on the stool beside her cot. “Though I do find it odd.”

  “Find what odd?” she asked, looking at him sharply.