Rich Wulf - Rise of the Seventh Moon

“I didn’t want them to find you,” Tristam said. “They would have forced you into servitude or used you for scrap.”

“Then you understand,” Omax said. “Even if you know you will die, to stand your ground for a righteous cause is the greatest victory.”

Tristam was stunned. No one had ever risked their life for him before. “Thank you, Omax,” he said quietly.

“You are welcome, Tristam,” the warforged said. He looked at the metal plate in his hand. “I assume their business here was the same as your own?”

“I think so,” Tristam said. “A lot of warforged died here. That’s a lot of House Cannith darkwood and adamantine. The right people would pay a lot of money for this stuff.”

“And is that why your master sent you here?” Omax asked, looking at Tristam solemnly. “To profit?”

“No,” Tristam said. “He sent me ahead to see if the ruins had been looted. Ashrem wanted to make certain the warforged received a proper burial.”

“Why?” Omax asked, placing the scrap back in the wagon. “We are only weapons.”

“Ashrem feels differently,” Tristam said.

Omax looked at Tristam, keenly interested. “Oh?” he said.

“Ashrem helped create the first generation of warforged,” Tristam said. “He feels sorry for the way they’ve been used.”

Omax said nothing.

“He should be here soon,” Tristam said. “Our airship is in Wroat, picking up supplies. Ashrem is a much more skilled artificer than I am. After he arrives we should have you back at full strength in no time, Omax.”

“And what then?” Omax asked. “Will I be returned to the War?”

“If you want to be,” Tristam said. “Or you could stay with us on the Seventh Moon . Master Ashrem believes that the warforged should be free to seek their destinies.”

“Free?” the warforged mused, tasting the word.

Tristam nodded.

“I think I would like that,” Omax said.

The Harrowcrowns

Seven Years Later

Nothing,” Eraina said, emerging from the worn shed with a scowl. She sheathed her shortsword and scanned the small camp with a sullen expression.

Zed Arthen sat on a stump. His two-handed sword lay on the grass, discarded but within easy reach. His long pipe dangled between his teeth, letting a plume of smoke curl in the air. He radiated disinterest as he studied the deep orange hue of the leaves above them.

“Are you even listening, Arthen?” Eraina asked. “I said I’ve found nothing.”

“I heard you,” he said, leaning backward and twisting to pop his back.

“You’ve nothing to add?” she said.

“Not really,” Zed said. “Not without saying I told you so, and that sort of thing just provokes you.”

Eraina’s face darkened.

“It’s true, though,” he said. “I told you Marth wouldn’t use these old scouting outposts. The Thrane military may have abandoned them, but they’re still on the maps. You know all it would take is one curious soldier checking in on area military holdings and Marth would be exposed. He wouldn’t take that kind of risk.”

“I don’t recall you saying any of that,” Eraina said. “I recall one grumbled, ‘Are you sure about this?’-which I attributed to your natural penchant for complaining.”

“I may have abbreviated my explanation,” Zed agreed, tapping out his pipe and tucking it back into his shabby coat.

The paladin gave him an exasperated look. “Zed, if you thought coming out here was such a terrible waste of time, you could have made your opinion clearer.” She stabbed her spear into the soft earth and slumped cross-legged on the ground.

“I didn’t have any better ideas,” Zed said. “None, at least, that you would have approved. To be honest, I kept my disagreement to a minimum because I hoped I was wrong. I thought maybe we would get lucky and find something.”

“Your first impression was correct, unfortunately,” she said.

“I’m a little confused by the entire situation, actually,” Zed said. “With as large an operation as Marth has, I would have thought he would be easier to track. At the very least he has to have some sort of airship repair bay, docking tower, and barracks. That means he has to maintain food, clothing, and morale for at least sixty to seventy troops. That’s assuming the soldiers we’ve faced are the majority of his followers. That may not be the case. There may be more. This sort of operation needs a lot of supplies, but we’ve seen nothing. Nathyrr is the most obvious staging point.” Zed sighed. “You haven’t sensed anything, have you, Eraina?”

“Nothing,” Eraina said, “but that isn’t unusual. Marth is, for all his cruelty, an ordinary mortal. Such beings rarely leave a supernatural trail that a paladin can easily follow. Though I don’t know why you need to ask me. You could try to sense him for yourself.” She looked at him meaningfully.

“That isn’t funny,” Zed said. “I told you, the Silver Flame hasn’t shone upon me in years. I’m not a paladin anymore.”

“Only because you turn away,” Eraina said. “Those who were wronged have been avenged. Commander Kalaven was brought to justice. Think of the good you have done in the years hence. You have risen above your weakness and atoned, Arthen. I think that your god would receive you as its champion. All that remains for you to be a paladin again is for you to forgive yourself .”

“Eraina, drop this,” Zed said. “It isn’t something I want to talk about. Ever.”

“Very well,” Eraina said. She rubbed her eyes, pushing strands of pale blond hair back into her unraveling braid. She caught Zed looking away and suppressed a grin. “What are you staring at?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Liar,” she said. “You were going make a comment about my hair again.”

Zed scratched his chin. The inquisitive had not shaved in several days, either due to laziness or preoccupation with their search. “What if I was?” he asked.

“I would have instructed you to return your thoughts to our task, deputy,” she said.

“Again with the deputy business.” Zed sighed. “You really take that seriously, don’t you?”

“I take everything seriously, Arthen,” Eraina said.

“I know you took a vow of honesty, but what other sorts of vows does a Spear of Boldrei take?” Zed asked.

“Arthen, focus,” she said. “We have much to do here.”

“Just making conversation,” he said. “I was wondering what sorts of relationships you’re allowed to have with outsiders.”

“If you are trying to seduce me again, this is hardly the time,” she said, rising and plucking her spear from the earth. She strode back to her horse.

“Why not?” Zed asked, not rising from his seat. “We’ve been here nearly a week and haven’t seen any sign of Marth’s soldiers. You’re an attractive woman, Eraina. You’re also interesting to talk to when you don’t have your spear jammed up your-”

“Wait,” she repeated, pausing with a thoughtful look as she adjusted her saddle. “Repeat what you said earlier about your ideas.”

“Excuse me?” Zed said, looking at her blankly.

“You said you had no ideas that I would have approved,” she said, looking at him sharply. “Implying that you had ideas of which I would not approve.”

Zed’s eyes shifted nervously. “Maybe.”

They mounted their steeds and rode back toward Nathyrr. The sun floated low above the horizon, painting the sky deep red. They urged their horses to a trot, eager to leave the dark reaches of the Harrowcrowns behind before sunset. Local legend held that the woods were haunted. Most Thrane forests were. Eraina and Zed were no strangers to the supernatural, nor were they entirely helpless against such foes. Nonetheless, their experiences had only made them all the more eager to avoid conflict if possible. If the legends were only that, so be it, but there was no harm in riding a bit more swiftly to avoid danger. Nothing more was said until the woods parted and the walls of Nathyrr appeared among the distant hills. Small farms and homesteads dotted the plains around the city, evidence of normal life that was a world away from their own existence.