Rich Wulf - Rise of the Seventh Moon

“Khyber, what just happened?” Zed asked, watching the flaming dragon soar away across the sky. He staggered to Eraina’s side.

“No time to worry about that,” Dalan said, running toward the flaming half of the ship. “We need to gather everyone and get out of here. Help me save Aeven’s figurehead!”

Zed found the figurehead lying on the ground near the burning ship. The wood was cracked and scorched from the crash, but otherwise unharmed. Aeven lay in the grass near it, barely breathing. Zed heaved the heavy statue over his shoulders while Dalan picked up the slim dryad. She weighed almost nothing, as delicate as the winds she commanded. After relying on her magic so many times to save them all, it was strange to see her so helpless now.

They returned to find the others still alive, though badly injured. Pherris was still not moving, and Ijaac was unconscious as well. Omax, as usual, looked oblivious to any damage he had taken. They gathered up their wounded and fled into the night.

But as they ran, Dalan felt Aeven stir against his chest. He looked down to see her eerie green eyes staring into his own.

“ Karia Naille thanks you, Dalan d’Cannith,” she whispered. “She will return to her sisters soon.

Dalan kept running, carrying the dryad in his arms.

Seren could still hear Zamiel’s defiant roars somewhere high above them. The ship’s elemental was probably no match for a dragon, but with luck it would give them time to escape.

Every one of them was helping someone else who was injured or unconscious. Eraina carried the captain’s limp body. Dalan still held Aeven while Zed hauled her livewood figurehead. Omax carried Ijaac and even Seren helped Tristam limp along, his crutch lost somewhere in the crash. They had to find a place to hide. They wouldn’t find one on the plains-so they ran into the Boneyard.

The ancient bleached bones crunched beneath their feet as they ran. Seren’s eyes scanned the shadows for any sign of the creatures that had attacked them on their last visit. There was nothing.

“There!” Zed said, pointing at a hollowed bone cavern beneath a large ribcage, filled in with centuries of shifting dirt and withered vegetation. “We can regroup there.”

They hurried inside. Tristam pulled away from her at the mouth of the cave, stopping to draw a pouch from his coat. He threw a handful of dust on the ground and whispered a quick transfusion. The dust swirled over the cavern mouth, forming an illusionary wall that matched the bony landscape.

Once she was safe inside, Seren collapsed in the corner. She hugged her arms against her chest and fought the urge to scream. How could things have gone so badly? The image of brave little Gerith flying out alone to delay the dragon replayed itself over and over in her mind.

“Is everyone all right?” Tristam asked.

“Pherris is badly injured,” Eraina said. Her left arm hung limp and bloody, but the paladin was more concerned for the gnome’s injuries than her own. She set Pherris gently on the ground and removed her cloak, rolling it into a pillow and tucking it beneath his head.

“Will he live?” Zed asked.

“I do not know,” Eraina said. She clasped her blessed octagram in one hand as she leaned over Pherris, summoning the healing power of Boldrei. “We should not have moved him.”

“I do not think Ijaac is badly injured,” Omax said, putting the heavy dwarf beside the captain.

“Let’s hope,” Zed said, leaning the figurehead against the back wall. “How is Aeven?”

“Badly stunned but otherwise all right,” Dalan said. The guildmaster knelt, placing the dryad on the ground near her statue. He moved with extreme care, as if he feared she might shatter.

“Move me near Pherris,” the dryad said. She pointed at the captain with a trembling hand. “I can help heal him.”

Dalan nodded and lifted the dryad, moving her to the captain’s side.

“What do we do now, Tristam?” Seren asked.

“I … don’t know,” Tristam said.

Seren felt despair wash over her. She hadn’t felt this helpless since the night Jamus died. They had done their best but had accomplished nothing. The Mourning Dawn was gone. Gerith was dead. Pherris and Aeven were nearly so. Ijaac was too badly injured to fight. The prophet was too powerful.

“The Timeless stirs,” Omax said, looking out toward the Boneyard.

“We can’t stop it now,” Tristam said. “We can’t close the veil without the Legacy.”

“You closed the Dragon’s Eye without the Legacy,” Omax said.

“I had Norra’s artifact then,” Tristam said. “It was designed to react to the Legacy’s energies and turn them upon themselves. If I had more time, I could build something similar, something attuned to that unique power signature.”

“What about me?” Omax said.

The warforged waited for an answer. Tristam stared up at his old friend silently.

“I still carry a small fraction of the Legacy,” Omax pressed. “Can that not be used to your purposes?”

“Maybe,” Tristam said. “I could alter the magic that binds you to the Timeless. If you got close enough it would turn the manifest zone upon itself, just like we did at Zul’nadn.”

“Then let us do so,” Omax said.

“Omax, what you’re suggesting is incredibly dangerous,” Tristam said. “The resultant energy could tear you apart-or even destroy the entire Boneyard the way Zul’nadn was destroyed. Except this time we don’t have an airship to make our escape.”

“Is there any other way?” the warforged asked.

Tristam frowned. “No,” he said.

“Then let us hurry,” Omax said.

The artificer stepped toward Omax, placing one hand on the warforged’s chest. He spoke words of arcane power under his breath as he channeled his magic into the warforged, altering the enchantments that animated Omax. After a few moments, it was done.

Omax turned to leave.

“Everyone else stay here,” Tristam said, limping awkwardly after him.

Seren moved beside Tristam, pulling his arm around her shoulders.

“Seren, no,” he said. “This is too dangerous.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she chided him. “You can barely walk.”

“I’m coming too, Xain,” Zed said. “Will you be all right here, Eraina?”

The injured paladin nodded. She drew her attention away from her patient for a moment, looking up at Zed with clear eyes. “May Boldrei and the Flame fight beside you,” she whispered.

The inquisitive smiled.

Seren was surprised to see Dalan still carrying a scorched pick he had found somewhere in the wreck. The guildmaster clutched his weapon tightly as stood guard over the wounded. He noticed her attention and looked at her sharply.

“Go, Miss Morisse,” he said. “I’ll stay and watch over them.”

“Good luck, Dalan,” she said. She stepped away from Tristam and hugged Dalan impulsively. He stood stiff in confusion for a moment before embracing her in return.

Dalan d’Cannith’s face split in a rare, sincere smile.

“Go finish this, Seren,” he said.

The four stepped through the illusionary wall into the Boneyard. The dragon’s roars had faded, though the sky rumbled with the approaching storm. The entire area was eerily silent. Zed drew his blade with a metal hiss.

“This way,” Omax said, leading them deeper into the canyon.

Seren followed the warforged. Tristam leaned heavily upon her, his foot still badly injured. His eyes stared straight ahead, glazed and unfocused.

“Tristam?” she whispered.

The artificer said nothing.

“Angry, Xain?” Zed asked.

“That’s something of an understatement,” Tristam said.

“Good,” Zed said. “You’ll need that. Staying angry is more useful than giving up. We’ll have time to grieve later.”