Rich Wulf - Rise of the Seventh Moon

“ Karia Naille is worried for the warforged,” Aeven said.

“Oh?” Tristam said, looking at the dryad in surprise.

“He is woven from elemental forces, bound together by magic, just as she is,” Aeven said. “She feels his pain. She fears she did not fly him here swiftly enough and that he may pass from this world. She does not understand death, but she is sorry that Omax may soon experience it.” The elemental ring burned a dark, somber blue.

Tristam looked past Aeven at the shimmering fire. He saw images within the bound energy, reflections of his vision at Zul’nadn. He witnessed an ancient giant struggling to hold creation together through sheer force of will. He saw the Dragon’s Eye form as a reflection of the ancient being’s desire to preserve Eberron.

“That brings me to my next question,” Tristam said. “A favor, actually, if Karia Naille is willing.”

“For all the times you have saved her, Tristam, she is pleased to help you,” Aeven said.

“Good,” Tristam said. “I’ll be right back.” He dropped into the cargo hold.

Dalan hurried down the stairs after him. “What is this about, Tristam?” he asked. “What are you up to?”

“Fixing my mistakes,” Tristam said, seizing one end of Omax’s stretcher. “Or maybe making another. Either way, this should be interesting to you. Help me with this.”

Dalan quickly moved to the winch, turning the handle to lower the stretcher as Tristam pushed it out through the cargo bay doors with a clatter.

Gerith Snowshale peered down into the hold from the deck above, blinking sleepy eyes. “What’s going on down there?” he asked.

“Wake Captain Gerriman,” Tristam said. “Tell him to set a course for Korth. And wake Ijaac, too. I’m going to need his help.”

“Korth?” the halfling said, confused. “Dalan?” He looked at the other man.

“Do it,” the guildmaster commanded.

Gerith nodded and vanished. His frantic shouting could be heard deep in the ship moments later. Tristam lowered the boarding ladder and climbed down through the tower, Dalan following. Mist clung to the lush plains. Most of Gatherhold still slept. A few halfling hunters were setting out on clawfeet. One yawned sleepily and waved as he rode out.

Mother Shinh sat just outside the entrance of the healer’s tent, head bowed as she sipped from a skin of water. She looked up as Tristam and Dalan approached. Dark rings hung beneath her eyes. She smiled weakly. The halfling healer was extremely tiny, with wrinkled skin and fine gray hair. Halflings, even elderly ones, usually had a youthful appearance-suggesting that the healer must be ancient indeed.

“How is Omax?” Tristam asked.

“It is difficult to say,” Mother Shinh said, glancing away evasively. “I’ve never seen a real warforged before, and certainly never treated one. Our normal medicines don’t do anything. Only my magic affects him and even that doesn’t heal him as wholly as it would a normal person.”

Dalan raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t mean your friend isn’t normal,” she amended. “I mean he isn’t a flesh and blood creature. I thought it was odd, at first, you people going to so much effort to keep a construct alive …”

“But then you spoke to him,” Dalan said.

“He is a gentle soul,” Shinh said, smiling fondly. “And so very wise. I’ve been trying to get him to sleep, but he’s stubborn.”

“Warforged don’t sleep,” Tristam said. “They don’t heal on their own, either. They can only be repaired.”

“I see,” Shinh said, a little embarrassed. “This is all new to us. We’re learning things every day, but I honestly don’t know if we can save him. Our healing spells are not replacing the broken metal quickly enough, and we have no one skilled enough to repair him.”

“You’ve done enough, helping him hold on this long,” Tristam said. “I’ll take things from here. Thank you.”

Mother Shinh looked at Dalan, confused. Dalan quickly drew a small pouch from his pocket and pressed it into the old halfling’s hands, clasping them warmly. “Your fee and more, Mother,” Dalan said. “If you require the aid of House Cannith, do not hesitate to call on me.”

Tristam pushed through the tent flap, Shinh and Dalan following him. Tristam knelt beside the warforged and slung the leather bag from his shoulder. He pulled the blankets away to inspect Omax’s injuries.

“You’re some sort of wizard, aren’t you?” Shinh asked.

“Artificer,” Tristam corrected.

The warforged turned his head weakly to face Tristam. His eyes shone only dimly. He looked a great deal better than he did after their escape from Metrol, but he was still seriously damaged. Large chunks of adamantine were missing from his torso. The smooth darkwood that granted his body flexibility was burned and splintered. A hoarse rumbling echoed in his chest.

“Don’t try to speak, Omax,” Tristam said. The artificer extended one hand, hands shining with a pale white light. The energy danced from his fingertips onto the warforged’s metal skin, sparks of magic winding through the damaged structure. “Just hold on.”

Omax nodded and lay back. The light in his eyes faded to almost nothing.

“You needed my help, Tristam?” Ijaac Bruenhail said. The dwarf looked around the inside of the tent. He gripped his morningstar in one hand, as if expecting a fight.

“Get his legs,” Tristam said. “Help me get him back onboard.”

The dwarf groaned at the idea of carrying Omax but did as requested. With some effort they carried the dense warforged to the stretcher and hauled him back aboard the ship. Once aboard, Tristam and Ijaac carried him out of the hold, laying him on the deck next to the ship’s helm. The rest of the crew had gathered, watching Tristam with varying degrees of confusion. Pherris Gerriman was tending the ship’s controls but spared Tristam a vexed glance.

“Korth?” the gnome captain asked.

“Aye,” Tristam said, digging in his bag again. “We need raw materials to repair this much damage.”

“Gavus Frauk,” Dalan said. “You intend to take him to the golemwright.”

“To the golemwright’s shop, anyway,” Tristam said. “I wouldn’t let Frauk touch Omax.” The artificer drew a length of thick metal wire out of his satchel. “The Canniths don’t build warforged anymore, but they build golems out of the same materials. Frauk will have what we need to fix a warforged-and he owes us.”

“Can Omax hang on long enough for us to reach Karrnath?” Seren asked, looking at the warforged with a worried expression.

Tristam fixed one end of the wire into the scar bisecting Omax’s chest. He spoke words of magic, fusing it to the warforged’s body. “That’s where Karia Naille ’s favor comes in,” Tristam said. He held out the other end of the wire, weighted down with an improvised adamantine hook. He swung it in a few quick circles and hurled it straight up, latching it around the tall strut that embraced the ship’s fiery elemental ring.

“What are you doing, Tristam?” Aeven asked.

“The Dragon’s Eye drew upon a raw elemental force,” Tristam said. “I don’t entirely understand what it is-but I know what it does. I want Karia Naille to share her elemental energies with Omax. Let the fire we saw in Zul’nadn flow into him. That power was used to preserve the entire world once. We can use it to keep Omax alive.”

Tristam closed his eyes and concentrated. The ship’s elemental ring burned brilliant blue in reply. That same light extended the length of the thick cable. Omax’s back arched, and a deep groan erupted from him. His eyes shone with searing blue energy. Crackling blue sparks erupted from every joint in his damaged body. Tristam extended his hands, grasping Omax’s shoulders. The light in his eyes receded to its normal hue, though faint sparks of blue electricity still crackled across his body. Omax lay still once more.