Rise of the Seventh Moon: Heirs of Ash, Book 3 (21 page)

Dalan rose, bowed, and made his way out of the room. Tristam and Ijaac stopped only to collect their weapons. Seren followed, pausing at the door to glance back at Draikus. The knight sat on a chair by the window, shoulders slumped as he stared out at the city.

“Men like Draikus want everything to be simple,” Dalan said as they walked out into the street. He looked out at the quiet bustle of locals going about their midday business. “When convinced with a complicated truth, they dismiss it as a lie.”

“He might have helped us, Dalan,” Seren said. “With the Knights of Thrane behind us, Marth’s soldiers wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“That is quite true, Seren,” Dalan said, “but we wouldn’t have the Knights of Thrane behind us. We would have a handful of knights led by an arrogant, argumentative, and foolish man. I would rather be outnumbered than be encumbered by such allies.”

“So what do we do next?” Tristam asked. “Check out the Kenricksons?”

“No,” Dalan said. “Captain Draikus’s men will still be investigating the scene. If we get in their way, he’s just spiteful enough to truly have us arrested for obstructing his investigation. The less we bother him, the better. He’s already revealed anything useful we can learn from the Kenricksons.”

A leathery flap of wings announced Gerith’s return. The halfling was breathless as he hopped from the saddle. The crowd
scattered around them, with many passersby directing terrified looks at the creature.

“Are you all right?” Gerith asked, glancing back at the Kindled Flame, oblivious to the panic he had caused. “I was worried when I saw all those knights go inside.”

“Just a misunderstanding,” Dalan said. “Fortunately we were able to avoid legal entanglements without resorting to arson.” Dalan gave Tristam a look. The artificer pretended not to notice. “Return to
Karia Naille
and inform Captain Gerriman that we will be taking rooms here in the city. Locating Arthen may take longer than we anticipated.”

“Aye, Captain,” Gerith replied.

“And be careful landing your glidewing in Nathyrr, Gerith,” Dalan chided. “People around here aren’t used to seeing dinosaurs.”

The halfling smirked, as if he was perfectly aware of the fact. He climbed back onto the harness and leapt into the sky.

“Do you think Zed is all right?” Seren asked.

“He has a knack for surviving unfortunate circumstances,” Dalan said. “I maintain hope.”

“Seren and I can poke around the city a bit while you and Ijaac find us a place to stay,” Tristam said. “Maybe someone might know something.”

“Fine, but be careful,” Dalan said, looking at him meaningfully. “We are very close to our enemies now and the only authorities are unlikely to help us.” The guildmaster walked off through the streets of Nathyrr. Ijaac followed a step behind, watching for any signs of trouble.

“Was it just me,” Seren asked, “or did Captain Draikus seem to recognize Dalan?”

“Dalan travels a lot,” Tristam said. “You know how he leaves an impression on people. If they do know each other, that would explain why Draikus liked Dalan so much.” Tristam chuckled.
He began leading them in the other direction, out of the late afternoon sun. “Whatever happened between them, it’s none of our concern. Where do you think we should start looking for Zed and Eraina?”

“We should follow the same trail they did,” Seren said. “If we find Marth’s fortress, we might find them along the way.”

“And how do we go about that?”

“Well, we could look for any areas with a lot of Cyran immigrants,” she said. “Those would be a likely recruiting target for Marth.”

“I don’t think we’ll find anything like that in Nathyrr,” Tristam said. “For all their talk of compassion, the Church of the Silver Flame didn’t open Thrane’s borders to the Cyrans like Breland did. We might find a few Mournland refugees here and there, but nothing like in New Cyre.”

They rounded a corner, finding themselves in a deserted alleyway. Seren stopped to think. Something about what Draikus had said to them earlier stuck out. “The forest,” Seren said. “Draikus said that parts of the forest had been sealed off. If we can find out what sections of the woods are haunted, maybe we can figure out where Marth is hiding.”

“Or you can just ask me,” said a bored voice. “I mean really, treading over the same mystery over again grows dreadfully dull sometimes.”

Seren recognized the voice instantly. She whirled, dagger appearing in her hand. Shaimin d’Thuranni stepped from the shadows of a narrow doorway, hands tucked into his sleeves. Tristam drew his wand. The elf moved instantly, running toward them, keeping Seren between himself and the artificer.

“Seren, duck!” Tristam shouted.

Shaimin pulled his arms from his sleeves, a long knife in each hand. He hurled one past Seren, toward Tristam. She glanced back,
distracted. The blade flew wide but then Shaimin lunged upon her. He seized her wrist with one hand, twisting hard as he drove his knee into her abdomen. Pain seized her; her dagger clattered into the street. His hand moved to her throat, lifting her easily and holding her as a shield against Tristam’s magic. He ran forward, throwing her aside at the last moment and leaping onto Tristam, bearing him down to the street. The elf’s dagger drew a line across Tristam’s throat, leaving a thin trace of red.

“Ah,” Shaimin said, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he stood and backed away. He dropped his remaining dagger on the road. “That’s all I needed. A sense of closure.”

Seren gasped for breath as she struggled to her feet. She ran to Tristam’s side. He was stunned but barely injured.

“I no longer intend to kill you, Master Xain,” Shaimin said. “I merely wished to satisfy my curiosity and assure myself that I
could.
”

“Maniac!” Tristam shouted. He snatched up his wand from the cobblestones and pointed it at the elf.

“You would kill me?” the elf said, holding out his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I am the only person left who can help you find the
Seventh Moon
in a timely manner.”

“
Kenshi Zhann
crashed on the Talenta Plains,” Tristam said, though he hesitated. Seren quietly picked her dagger up off the street. She glanced around for Shaimin’s weapons but couldn’t find them. When had the elf had time to retrieve them?

“Her condition has much improved,” Marth said. “Captain Marth is preparing her for a final assault as we speak.”

“An assault on whom?” Tristam demanded.

“I want your promise of a truce, Master Xain,” Shaimin said. “I have a stake in this battle as well. I wish to aid you.”

“Aid us?” Seren said. “You were hired to kill us.”

Shaimin sighed. “No,” he said, annoyed. “First of all I was never
hired. I was called upon to repay a favor. Second, you were never my objective, Seren. You were never anything but a frustratingly tenacious obstacle. It was suggested that I repay my debt by killing Tristam, but I have since reconsidered.”

“Why?” Tristam asked.

“Because the man to whom I owe that favor is now insane,” Shaimin said. “And, as he intends to destroy the entire political structure of the Five Nations, which indirectly includes House Thuranni, I find his employ a distinct conflict of interests. Further, I have determined the only way to repay the debt I owe to Marth. That is to defeat the monster that he has become.”

Tristam’s wand did not move. “I don’t intend to stop one monster by allying with another.”

“You are unmoved,” Shaimin said. “Let me speak, then, of details. Not far from this city, Marth has constructed a fortress atop an ancient cavern, apparently the home to a passage of the Draconic Prophecy—though I confess I did not see such a cave myself. He has named this stronghold Fort Ash, a dubious honor for your mutual master. There he completes repairs on the
Seventh Moon
in preparation for his mad campaign against the Five Nations. I can lead you directly to him.”

Tristam held the wand steady, pointed at the elf’s chest.

“You would be foolish to refuse me,” Shaimin said. “You have little time to decide. Would you let your friends die for nothing?”

“My friends?” Tristam asked.

“I helped Zed Arthen and Eraina d’Deneith discover Marth’s fortress,” Shaimin said. “They perished as we were fleeing from his soldiers. I had returned to search their quarters for any information that might help me find Dalan, but the Knights of the Silver Flame were already there. I thought that the rest of you might appear if I kept watch on the place. I must confess. I am pleasantly surprised at how swiftly my patience was rewarded.”

“You say Zed and Eraina are dead,” Seren said. “Why should we believe you?”

“If I were in any way responsible for their deaths, why would I even tell you that I met them?” Shaimin asked, laughing. “If you are so fragile that you cannot set aside our past and work with beside me for the greater good, then I do not need your aid. Say hello to Dalan for me.”

Shaimin turned his back to Tristam and walked away down the road.

Tristam looked at Seren, still pointing his wand at the retreating elf. “Seren, what do we do?” he asked.

She glanced from Tristam to Shaimin. The elf was dangerous; that much was obvious from their previous encounters. Yet he had a point—if he had wished to kill them he could easily have done so. Dalan seemed to offer Shaimin a strange kind of trust, as much as he trusted anyone. If he really knew what happened to Zed and Eraina, they couldn’t afford to let him leave. He had proved before how easily and completely he could vanish when given the chance.

“Wait,” Seren called out.

Shaimin looked back over one shoulder. He lifted one blond eyebrow expectantly. “Yes?” he asked.

“We need your help,” she said. The words left a sour taste in her mouth.

“And I need yours,” he said, turning and striding swiftly back toward them. “There. Was that really so difficult?”

S
IXTEEN

A
ll that Zed could see was flame.

All around him, fire consumed the once proud temples of Vathirond. The bodies of the dead and dying lay strewn about the square. Most of the knights had moved on, pushing toward the next objective. Zed had arrived late, returning from delivering a message to the rear guard. He arrived only in time to see the last of the temples put to the torch. Now he stood in the center of the square. His massive sword hung limp in one hand, blade dragging across the paving stones.

At first he thought it was the Cyrans, and he cursed them for their cruelty. Then he saw a band of his fellow knights emerge from the temple of Kol Korran, still holding flaming brands and swords drenched in blood. He stared at them in silent horror, but they paid him no mind, marching out of the square. He stood, numb and confused, unable to comprehend what he had seen.

If he had been here earlier, could he have prevented this? Or would he have been swept up in the bloodlust of his comrades and done the same? He knew the charisma with which Kalaven commanded her soldiers; he had felt it personally. He just never imagined that she could be so brutal.

It was the scream that snapped him back to reality. A woman’s scream from the shadowed alley between two ruined temples. He
ran toward the sound, only to find two of his comrades, Airik and Daiven, dragging a girl through the ash-strewn alley. Her scorched robes bore the octogram of the Sovereign Host, now stained with blood.

“What are you doing?” Zed shouted to them. “Where are you taking her?”

“Just following orders, Arthen,” Daiven said with a wicked grin. “Go find your own.”

Arthen’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. The flames that coursed through the temple district now seemed to seethe through him as well. He charged, lifting the heavy steel blade high and screaming in inarticulate rage. Airik and Daiven barely had time to defend themselves, not that it would have mattered, for they had always been poor examples of knights. Two strokes of his blade and the men lay dead. The priestess offered no thanks. Seeing the Silver Flame on Zed’s breastplate, she shrieked in terror and crawled away through the debris.

Zed slumped against the wall, tears streaming down his face. Around him, he could hear stone walls crack and crumble under their own weight. The flames consumed this once holy place. He felt weak, but his fingers gripped the hilt of his sword. It was the only thing that still seemed real. He would have prayed for the fire to topple the buildings upon him, but he could not bring himself to pray.

He closed his eyes.

A sharp pain in his calf made him wince. He reached for his leg with one hand but felt nothing. He felt another pain in his lower back, and it grew difficult to breathe. Zed peered about in confusion. The city of Vathirond became a blur.

And then he awakened, thrashing in a pool of stagnant, frigid water. He was in total darkness. Finding the ground beneath them, he lurched for the surface. He gasped for breath, the smell
of smoke searing his nostrils. Debris pelted his face, driving him under the surface again. Somewhere, far above, he could see the crackling light of distant green fire. He dared to surface again, taking another breath. He could barely feel his arms and legs in the freezing water.