Rich Wulf - Rise of the Seventh Moon

The others looked at Tristam dubiously.

“At this point we have nothing left to lose,” Tristam said. “If the prophecy is true, then it will resolve itself with or without us and we’ve already lost. I don’t believe that. I believe we still have a chance to stop Zamiel. It’s just as you said, Eraina. It ends with us.”

Ijaac looked at Tristam dubiously. “We have less than seven days, Tristam,” he said.

Tristam stood and limped toward the ladder. He climbed to the upper deck with some difficulty. Pherris looked up from where he had been napping beside the helm.

“Master Xain,” he said, beaming happily. “Good to see you on your feet.”

“Captain,” Xain said, nodding respectfully. “Can we fly from Sharn to the Boneyard in seven days?”

“If we leave now, fly full speed without any breaks, keep the wind behind us, and cut directly through the Mournland,” the gnome said dubiously.

“Good,” Tristam said, nodding eagerly. “When can we leave?”

Zed was no expert where matters of airship maintenance were concerned. He preferred to leave those sorts of matters to Pherris and Tristam. Though he trusted their judgment, he was beginning to worry. The elemental ring that surrounded the ship had subtly begun to shift, day by day. What once burned a brilliant blue slowly changed. The flames now seethed a murky indigo. The deck rattled noticeably under their feet. Tristam often hurried around the deck, checking the struts and adjusting things.

Passing over the Mournland without incident was a small blessing. The creatures that roamed that place appeared, for the most part, to be bound near the earth. Zed sometimes noticed shifting spirits swimming in the mists far below them, but nothing attacked them directly. Dalan spent that entire day locked in his cabin, unwilling to look upon his homeland again. In contrast, Omax had stood at the rail the entire time, staring down at the thick mists. Once they crossed the border into the Talenta Plains, Omax returned below deck to meditate.

Now the vast homeland of the halflings stretched below them. It would not be long before they arrived at their goal. With this sunset, it would be seven days since the battle over Sharn. Zed was silently impressed. He hadn’t thought even the Mourning Dawn could make this trip so swiftly. He avoided saying anything on the matter. Pherris was too occupied on their course. Any distraction, even praise, was likely to upset the gnome.

Zed had taken his evening’s dinner to the deck to enjoy a Plains sunset. His massive sword hung over one shoulder; he knew he would need it soon. As Zed looked for a barrel or crate to sit on, he noticed Gerith huddled in the corner of the deck. The halfling quietly stroked his glidewing’s neck and sang quietly to himself. Zed didn’t recognize the words, but the tone was moody and oddly heartbreaking. Zed sat quietly and listened. Near the end of the song, Seren climbed onto the deck and sat beside him, listening as well.

“That was beautiful,” Seren said when Gerith was done. “What was that?”

“A song of good-bye,” Gerith said. “A song for friends who will never come home again. My grandfather taught it to me.”

“Who are you singing for?” Zed asked, taking out his pipe and stuffing the bowl.

“For Norra and Shaimin,” Gerith said. “For Marth.”

“Marth?” Seren asked. “Why?”

The halfling looked at her with haunted eyes. “I know you did what had to be done, Seren,” Gerith said. “I hated Marth for what he did to the Ghost Talons … but when I learned what happened to his family, I started to wonder. How easy would it be for a good man to become what he became?”

“Too easy,” Zed said.

Gerith nodded. “I sing for them, and for myself.”

“Listen, Gerith, if you’re afraid of entering the Boneyard …” Zed said. “Everyone understands your tribe’s beliefs. You can take Blizzard and fly away before we land. No one will think any less of you.”

“I’m not talking about the Boneyard,” Gerith said vehemently. “I already decided I was coming with you. I wouldn’t be able to face myself if I didn’t help. I’m not afraid of the curse.”

“Oh,” Zed said, taken aback by the fire in the halfling’s words. On their last visit, Gerith and the other halflings had been terribly suspicious of the Boneyard, believing any halfling who entered would die far from home, unmourned.

“You both know about my promise,” the halfling said. “I told my grandfather I wouldn’t return until I found a story greater than any of his. In Sharn, I realized that would never happen.”

“What do you mean?” Seren asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” the hafling said, waving them away. “It isn’t important.”

“Master Xain!” Pherris called from the helm. “We’re nearly there. Make ready.”

Tristam limped onto the deck, still unsteady on his crutch. He steadied his new sword on his belt as he stared out to the east. The jagged white spires of the Boneyard were already visible.

Eraina, Ijaac, and Omax emerged as well. Eraina stared at Zed for a long moment.

“What?” he asked, looking up at her uncomfortably.

“There is something different about you today, Arthen,” she said. Her eyes moved to his throat. A Silver Flame amulet now hung there openly.

“Just something I picked up in Nathyrr,” he said. His eyes flicked away nervously.

“Of course,” she replied.

“I still cannot believe we’re doing this,” Dalan said, stepping out of his cabin and standing beside Tristam. “I can state without reservation or hyperbole that this is your most ridiculous idea yet, Tristam.”

“It’s your ship, Dalan,” Tristam said. “Order her to turn about if you don’t want to do this. Or scrap her. That’s what you wanted to do back in Sharn, wasn’t it?”

Gerith looked at Dalan curiously, then returned to his course. Dalan’s dark eyes flicked toward Zed.

“Do not hurl my words at me out of context,” Dalan said. “From the very start of this, Zamiel’s hunger for the Legacy has caused no end of violence and pain. We could dismantle Karia Naille ’s core, release her elemental to return to its home world, and bind a new one. The ship would still fly but the Legacy would be no more. Zamiel’s plans would be halted and we wouldn’t be throwing our lives away attacking a dragon.”

Aeven turned her cool gaze on them from the bow of the ship. “ Karia Naille feels privileged to share in our adventures,” the dryad said, “but she would like nothing more than to be rejoined with her sisters.”

“There! Even Aeven agrees with me for once!” Dalan said. “We can still turn the ship around, Tristam.”

Tristam ran a nervous hand through his hair as he stared at the Boneyard. “What do you think, Zed?” he asked, looking at the inquisitive.

Zed coughed on his pipe, surprised that Tristam had asked for his opinion. “Hard to say,” Zed said, gathering his thoughts. “If that prophecy you read was a fake, then Dalan is right. We’re probably better off dismantling the Legacy and making Zamiel start from scratch. We don’t even know what he can do. Remember how tough Mercheldethast was? He was a baby compared to Zamiel.”

“This is what I’m talking about!” Gerith shouted fiercely, rising to his feet. His eyes glistened with tears. “I started this adventure because I was looking for a great story to tell my grandfather-but now I know I’ll never find it. Real stories don’t have happy endings. We fought Marth. We stopped him-but people still died. I saw them falling in Skyway. I heard them screaming for help … but I couldn’t help. It’s always been the same. For every victory, there’s a tragedy. For every hero who defeats a villain, there are ten people the hero couldn’t save in time. Now here we are, at the end of this, and we’re going to let Zamiel escape?”