Flight of the Dying Sun (Heirs of Ash book 2

by Rich Wulf

  “No,” Tristam said, voice quavering.

  Seren looked at Tristam, uncertain what to think. Tristam would not meet her eyes.

  “You don’t need to lie in front of your friends, Tristam,” Marth said. “There is no need to be greedy, Tristam. We are both worthy heirs. Step aside and let me claim the Sun. Keep Mourning Dawn, and unlock its power for your own ends.”

  “What if I don’t let you have this ship?” Tristam asked.

  “This is not a negotiation, Tristam,” Marth said. “This is a gift, to a man I once considered a friend. I once thought you intended to destroy the Legacy. Now that I see that you wish to embrace Ashrem’s most glorious and terrible creation as much as I do, I offer you one last chance to get out of my way.”

  “No,” Tristam said, his voice pained.

  Marth sighed and aimed his wand at Tristam. “I don’t have time to watch you wrestle with self-doubt, Xain. You had your chance.”

  Seren drew her dagger, still shimmering with the light of Tristam’s enchantment. The changeling smirked, aiming his wand at her instead. A deadly blast of green fire rolled toward her, but this one stopped short, reflected by a shield of white sparks.

  “Marth, stay your hand,” Ashrem’s visage said, stepping in front of her.

  “Ashrem?” Marth cried. The changeling’s jaw gaped. He stretched one hand toward his mentor, only to see Ashrem’s image waver in a crackle of wild magic energy. “What sorcery is this?”

  Seren seized on the distraction, leaping into the shadows behind a conductor stone just as the illusion of the living rail station reappeared. Ijaac followed, crouching beside her, hands tight on the haft of his morningstar. Tristam was nowhere to be seen, lost in the phantom crowd.

  “Kresthian would be ashamed to see what you have become,” Ashrem’s phantom said sadly. “Your sons weep for their wretched father.”

  Marth sneered. “I will not be judged by a memory.” He stabbed the wand into the image of Ashrem. The figment screamed as ripples of green fire spread through its form. The artificer’s image unraveled into spiraling trails of dust, falling to its knees as its body scattered in a cloud of shimmering motes.

  Marth scowled as he prowled across the station toward Dying Sun, unleashing a random burst of flame in his path as he went, trying to flush them out of hiding.

  “You must have seen what I have seen, Tristam,” Marth called. “You know what the future holds. Why won’t you let me rebuild the world as it should be?”

  Seren saw movement within the airship. It could only be Tristam. She darted from the darkness, hoping that Tristam was ready for what she planned. She ran past the bow of the ship, toward Omax’s prone body. Marth unleashed another burst of fire at her, narrowly missing as she rolled to one side. The changeling strode after her, his pace calm and methodical, confident that she could not escape.

  It was not until he lifted the wand to blast at her again that he heard the discordant whine of an elemental flaring to life. He looked over his shoulder at Dying Sun, and realized that the bow of the ship was pointed directly toward him, shining bright white. Seren leapt behind the cover of a thick column just as a bolt of searing blue lightning erupted from the airship’s bow, tearing through Marth with the smell of burning ozone. The changeling’s seared corpse fell to the earth with a crackle.

  Seren’s ears rang from the blast but she kept running until she reached Omax, kneeling by the wounded warforged’s side. She had never seen him so badly damaged. A smoking crack bisected his chest. One eye shone only dimly; the other was dark. His jaw worked, but he made no sound. Tristam was already running toward them, his satchel of tools slung over one shoulder. Ijaac ran beside him, staring in wonder at the enormous gouge the Dying Sun’s lightning ray had torn through the floor.

  “Omax, stay with me,” Tristam whispered, kneeling by his friend. The artificer placed his hands on the injured warforged’s chest, whispering the infusions that would bind the broken wood and metal. “Omax, talk to me. I’m here.”

  “You made me promise …” Omax whispered.

  “Promise?” Tristam asked, leaning close. “Promise what?”

  “To tell you the next time I needed repairs …” Omax said with a low chuckle. “I think … that time is now.”

  “That isn’t funny, Omax,” Tristam said. Under his hands, the warforged’s body was already beginning to bend and twist back into shape. “You’ve been worse than this. Remember when I found you in the monastery?”

  “I remember, Tristam,” said Omax. “And I thank you, Tristam. I know who I am now.” The warforged lay his head back on the rubble.

  “Omax!” Seren cried. “Help him, Tristam!”

  “I’m doing what I can,” the artificer said frantically. “He’s too badly hurt, and my magic is nearly exhausted from repairing the airship …”

  Ijaac looked around quickly, the head of his morningstar cracking on the ground as his eyes widened in shock.

  “Where did the changeling go?” he asked.

  Marth’s corpse was gone.

  “He just vanished,” Ijaac said, stuttering slightly. “I was looking right at him.”

  Seren looked back at the airship just as a searing ring of red fire ignited around her, extending partially into the floor.

  “Host!” Tristam swore. “The same trick I used in New Cyre.”

  He ran toward the ship, leaping at her as she floated into the air. Tristam’s fingers hooked the delicate carvings on the ship’s hull and for several seconds he hung a dozen feet above the ground, hanging desperately onto Dying Sun’s hull. The ship banked, dropping him back onto the cracked marble. The airship continued to ascend, shattering one edge of the broken glass ceiling as it rose. Tristam held up his arms to protect himself from falling glass as he lay in the ship’s shadow. He glared up at the Sun in rage, snatching the wand from his belt and aiming it at the airship. At the same time, the crystal rod in the ship’s bow flared a brilliant blue.

  “Tristam, you must live,” Ashrem’s fading voice whispered.

  Blue lightning sizzled into the rail station, but the figment’s wards flared. Explosive force reverberated through the shattering shields and rippled through the building. Ashrem’s voice screamed as the conflicting energies tore the phantom’s remnants apart. The rail station shuddered as chunks of the ceiling began to fall.

  “Get to cover, girl!” Ijaac said. The dwarf seized Omax by the neck and hip, hauling the injured warforged over his shoulders. He turned toward the door, but Seren caught his shoulder.

  “We can’t run outside,” she said. “Marth will kill us as soon as we go out there.”

  Above them, the building shook as Dying Sun blasted it again.

  The dwarf looked at her, panicked. “We can’t stay here or he’ll drop the building on our heads.”

  The artificer still stood in the center of the station, glaring up through the smoke at the ring of red fire.

  “Tristam!” Seren shouted. “Help us!”

  Tristam looked at her, his anger replaced with fear and concern. He ran to her side, dodging debris as he tucked his wand back into his belt.

  “We have to get out of here!” she called to him.

  Tristam’s eyes narrowed with a sudden idea.

  “This is a rail station” he said, snatching his bag of tools. “Let’s take the lightning rail.”

  He ran toward the surviving lightning coach and threw open the door, tossing his tools inside before returning to help Ijaac load Omax into the coach.

  “Are you sure this thing even still works?” Ijaac asked.

  Seren looked up fearfully. Through the dusty haze she could see the silhouette of Dying Sun still hovering overhead. Flashes of lightning continued to tear into the station. Obviously Marth’s offer of compromise had been revoked.

  “I’ll make it work,” Tristam said grimly.

  The inside of the coach was divided into two cars, a small pilot’s chamber and a passenger area large enough for a dozen
customers. Much like the station, the top of the coach was constructed of frosted glass, now long since broken. Omax lay across several seats, his eye shining dimly as he slipped in and out of whatever passed for consciousness for a warforged. Seren knelt beside him, clasping one great metal hand in both of hers. Tristam whispered encouragement to his friend and climbed into the engineer’s seat, grasping the controls. The artificer closed his eyes in concentration as he channeled his will into the slumbering vehicle. Seren felt a tingle at the back of her neck as the coach flared to life. A circle of electricity erupted around the front end of the car. The entire vehicle shook violently and hovered a few inches higher above the conductor stones.

  “It’s working!” Ijaac exclaimed over the thunderous blasts from above.

  “It’s starting to,” Tristam growled. “These coaches are bound to elementals, like the airship, but built to react to the dragon-marked engineers of House Orien. I have to convince the elemental to help us.”

  A heap of rubble crashed into the floor only a few feet away. Ijaac swore and rose a hand to protect his face from spraying gravel, then slammed the coach door shut. “I don’t want to be a pest,” the dwarf said, “but can you hurry?”

  “Trying,” Tristam said. Sweat trickled down his temple as he focused his concentration on the controls. “After four years locked in a box, the elemental is a little upset. All it wants to do is run free and wreck things.”

  Seren looked at the wrought iron gates that blocked their path, then back at Tristam. “So let it,” she said.

  Tristam opened his eyes suddenly. “That’s brilliant, Seren,” he said.

  The coach shook even more violently. The ring of electricity burned a sickly green. A savage roar rolled up out of the depths of somewhere, as if echoing from another world.

  “Fly,” Tristam whispered, and the word seemed to through the vehicle’s metal body.

  The lightning coach bucked and surged forward on the tracks in a violent release of motion. Seren flinched as the car plunged directly toward the eastern gates. The car burst through unharmed, scattering metal and stone as it exploded onto the streets of Metrol. A dancing trail of energy moved ahead of them. The conductor stones shone intensely as they approached, as if anticipating being used again.

  Seren looked behind them, through the roof of the passenger car. Dying Sun broke through the clouds of smoke that consumed the lightning rail station, her ring burning fierce red as she soared after them. The lance burned blue, and a bolt of lightning struck the side of the car. The air elemental roared in defiance, driving the car to greater speeds. The coach turned a wide corner and dove into an underground tunnel. Behind them, Dying Sun soared out of view. The electric aura cast freakish patterns of color upon the stone as they screamed through the tunnel.

  “Marth will catch up on the far side of the tunnel,” Tristam said, stepping out of his seat. “Take the controls, Ijaac.”

  “What?” the dwarf asked in a surprised voice. “What do I do? I’m no artificer. I don’t know how to drive this thing.”

  “You don’t need to know how to drive it,” Tristam said, standing and pushing the dwarf into the seat. “Just hold the controls so that you can hear the elemental’s voice in your head. Be angry and keep the coach angry.”

  “Good at that,” Ijaac replied. “Been married.”

  Omax’s hand tightened on Seren’s. The warforged’s eye now burned with a faint red tinge. Tristam knelt beside them, looking at his friend with a worried frown. He whispered and moved his hands over the warforged’s battered body, repairing the damage as well as he could.

  “Omax, can you speak?” Tristam asked.

  “Tristam,” the warforged said. A rattle escaped his throat. Seren thought it might be a chuckle.

  “Omax, I’m sorry,” Tristam said.

  “For what?” the warforged asked.

  “For letting this happen to you,” he said. “We never should have stayed here. I’ve ruined everything”

  “Then fix it, Tristam,” Omax said weakly. “As you always do.”

  Tristam nodded.

  “Coming up on the end of the tunnel, Tristam!” Ijaac shouted.

  The artificer nodded and rose, drawing his wand and staring up through the roof of the coach.

  “It is strange, Seren,” the warforged whispered.

  “What’s strange, Omax?” Seren asked, trying to keep him talking.

  “I am not sure if I was ever truly alive,” he said. “I am not sure what it means, to live. But now I find … that I do not want to die.”

  “You’re not going to die, Omax,” Seren said. “We’re almost home. We’re going back to Karia Naille.”

  “Home,” the warforged answered, savoring the word.

  “It’s like you said, Omax,” Seren said. “War will try to tear us apart. We have to remain together. We need you, Omax.”

  “I am with you, Seren,” the warforged said, his head slumping against his chest. The light in his eye faded.

  “Brace yourselves!” Ijaac shouted.

  The lightning coach burst out of the tunnel and back onto the streets again. Heaps of rubble and awkwardly shaped buildings huddled on all sides, but the rail stretched on, unimpeded. The eerie lights of living spells burned in the shadows, gathering around the conductor stones as if seeking the warmth of their magic. The coach surged on with a defiant cry, scattering the spells as a predator scattered curious scavengers. The coach sped up the steeply sloped streets. Ahead, the tracks climbed a narrow bridge over the River Melandor.

  “Where is Marth?” Tristam demanded, knuckles white on the haft of his wand.

  Red fire rose from beneath the bridge as Dying Sun appeared before them. The ship’s lance shimmered and erupted with energy, tearing into the bridge. Metal and stone exploded as the center of the bridge tumbled into the river. The water glowed green as a conductor stone vanished into its depths.

  “Khyber,” Ijaac swore.

  “Faster!” Tristam said. “We have to jump the gap!”

  “This is as angry as I get, Tristam,” Ijaac said. “I’m a bit too terrified to be properly mad!”

  Tristam darted back into the pilot’s chamber and grasped the controls with one hand. His brow furrowed as he concentrated, glaring up at Dying Sun as she hovered over the bridge. The coach screamed in fury and accelerated, climbing the bridge. The bridge cracked and snapped around them as the vehicle’s weight pressed against the conductor stones. The bridge jolted and tilted suddenly to the left. Tristam tightened his grasp on the controls as they sped toward the edge of the bridge. The elemental shrieked in triumph as the coach soared through the air for one glorious moment. Half of the bridge folded into the water behind it. The coach landed heavily on the other side, the conductor stones spraying sparks in a fiery burst. They careened down the far side bridge. Seren watched the conductor stones crumble into the river one by one as the coach sped onward. The bridge collapsed entirely, as the coach barreled back into the streets, rounding a sharp corner and speeding deeper into the city.

  Dying Sun accelerated, soaring after them. The crystal lance at its bow glowed blue. A bolt of lightning sizzled past them, shattering a conductor stone in their path. The coach shuddered and crossed the void, jumping the dead stone in the elemental’s wild desire to keep running. Ijaac gripped the controls fiercely, muttering a stream of curses in the Dwarven tongue.

  Tristam took aim at the airship and fired a blot of white lightning into the sky. Dying Sun banked sharply. The blast barely seared her hull.

  Tristam took a step back, staring up at the airship. The blue beam seared the back of the coach, shattering the rear half of the roof. Seren threw herself over Omax to protect the wounded warforged from the debris. The Sun drew closer, hovering only a dozen feet from the coach, and powered up the lance again as the coach crested a hill.

  Everything went dark as the coach suddenly dipped into a tunnel at the base of the hill. Sparks reflected off the walls, and the elemental’s r
oar echoed through the earth. Dying Sun’s red ring followed them. Unable to veer away from the tunnel, Marth simply flew in after them.

  “He can’t fire,” Seren realized as she saw the glow in the crystal rod fade. “If he kills us he’ll crash right into our wreck.”

  “Calm down, Ijaac,” Tristam said.

  “What?” the dwarf shouted. “We need to go faster, not slower! I can barely keep this thing under control as it is!”

  “Calm down, Ijaac!” Tristam shouted. “Let Marth catch up to us!”

  The dwarf glanced back at Tristam in disbelief, then turned back to the controls. The elemental’s shriek changed pitch, from anger to defiance. The coach shook and began to lose speed. Dying Sun drew closer. Tristam aimed his wand and opened fire, releasing white lightning into the airship. He unleashed his magic again and again, firing blast after futile blast. The airship flashed in the light of the wand’s blasts, outlined by its own elemental fire. Tristam kept firing, screaming in fury as he poured the wand’s magic into Dying Sun. The red hull turned slowly black but continued pursuit, growing slowly closer. The wand tumbled from Tristam’s hand, now a dull black, its energy spent. The end of the tunnel drew near, and in the light of the conductor stones Seren saw the bow of the ship clearly. Dying Sun’s crystal rod was shattered, her weapon destroyed.

  The coach sped out the other side of the tunnel, plummeting down another hill and following the rail as it made its way to the edge of the city. Dying Sun pulled above them and to one side, hovering patiently.

  “What’s he doing?” Seren asked.

  “Waiting,” Tristam said. “We’ve killed his ship’s weapon. Now he’s just waiting for us to stop so he can finish us himself.”

  “Afraid it won’t be long,” Ijaac said, frowning as the coach continued to lose momentum. The sparkling energy that surrounded the front of the coach slowly died down and vanished altogether. The sparks that exploded from stones began to lose intensity as the vehicle gradually slowed. Tristam drew another wand from his cloak, scowling as he girded himself for the fight ahead.