Rich Wulf - Flight of the Dying Sun

“Haha, no,” Dalan said. “That would have been my motivation when I quietly arranged for you to be transported home to Ringbriar with a small sum of money, as I initially planned. I was a great deal more pleased when you proved to be indispensable. I find it comforting to have Jamus’ apprentice with us. It is as if he is here, in a way, though you smell a great deal nicer than he did.”

Seren laughed. “So you fought beside Jamus?” she asked.

“A few times, yes,” Dalan said. “I was never much of a warrior, but that man was deadly with a dagger.”

Seren nodded. “So you’ve seen him fight.”

“What are you getting at, Seren?” he asked warily.

“The other thing I wanted to talk to you about,” she said. “Jamus taught me to fight. I’m not the sort to brag, but he always said I was a talented student-as good as he was in his time.”

“How nice for you,” Dalan said, looking slightly confused. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Nothing, I just wanted you to know,” she said.

“Why?” he asked, sensing more.

Seren shrugged. “Because I know Eraina’s ability to detect lies isn’t infallible, and that if anyone is adept at dancing around the truth, it’s you. I just hope you’re telling Tristam everything. For your sake.” Seren looked at him coldly. “If you hurt Tristam, you won’t see me coming.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dalan said, his voice breaking a little.

“Enjoy your book.” Seren said. She smiled brightly and left the cabin.

Dalan stared at the hatch for a good, long time.

Karrnath is your homeland, isn’t it, Eraina?” Zed asked as she joined him at the rail.

The paladin nodded, looking down at the approaching town of Vulyar with a solemn expression.

“What can you tell me about this town?” he asked.

“There’s very little to tell,” she said. “Just another town. Peaceful. Never saw a lot of battle. Invaders usually stop at Fort Bones to the southwest, so Vulyar escaped the Last War virtually unscathed. It is a boring place, unless you’re a merchant, but sometimes ‘boring’ can be a godsend.”

“Fort Bones?” Pherris asked, looking at her curiously. “What a dreadful name. Why would someone give that sort of name to a place?”

“It’s something of a legend of the Last War,” she said. “The fort was razed after a surprise attack, but the Karrns rallied and won the day. They had to rebuild, and quickly. So they used the bones of their enemies to fortify the walls.”

Pherris gave her an incredulous look. “Bone hardly seems the hardiest of building materials,” he said.

“The Karrnathi military relies heavily on necromancy,” Eraina said grimly. “I can’t say that I approve, but death magic has quite efficiently protected our people for generations. The fortifications worked surprisingly well, and the improvised defenses held off all attacks until reinforcements arrived and the enemy departed, seeking easier pickings. Since then, it has become tradition. Any time the fort is attacked, the bones of any slain enemies are added to its defenses.”

“A grim sort of folktale,” Pherris said.

“It’s no folktale,” Eraina said. “It is a true story. The Karrn are a fierce, stubborn, and unforgiving people. We are prone to making dramatic examples of our enemies, so that others will be loath to challenge us. I find it barbaric, but it is our way.”

“What you call barbaric I find admirable,” Dalan said as he emerged from his cabin. His face was still faintly bruised, but he wore a freshly pressed black suit and appeared entirely refreshed from his ordeal. “Dramatic examples defeat future enemies before a battle even begins. It is an extraordinarily humane way to conduct a nation’s defense. Those bones, after all, weren’t being put to any other use.”

Eraina looked at Dalan and sighed.

“Pherris,” Dalan continued, ignoring the paladin, “please pull in as close as you can to the village. The lightning rail station may have a proper sky tower of some sort. Eraina, if you would be so kind, I request your presence. The locals will react suspiciously to an unexpected foreign airship docking in their town. The presence of a countryman, especially one who bears the mark of the Hearthmother, may ease my attempts at diplomacy.”

“Of course,” she said, eyeing Dalan with her usual caution.

“And Tristam?” Dalan peered about, seeing no sign of the artificer. He sighed. “If anyone sees Master Xain, tell him to perform only the minimum labor necessary so that we might travel on to Korth safely. I can arrange the rest of the repairs there for lesser expense. The merchants of Vulyar are accustomed to charging inflated prices to their curious halfling visitors, and I would prefer to avoid their greed. In the meantime, I have business in Korth that can be attended while the ship is repaired there.”

“Eager to check in with Baron Zorlan?” Zed said.

Dalan nodded gravely.

“You plan to face the master of your own House, Dalan?” Eraina asked.

Dalan snorted.

“Zorlan is not the master of House Cannith,” Dalan said. “The Cannith patriarch died on the Day of Mourning. Since then, the leadership of my House has been split by petty political squabbles. I respect all of the so-called lords of my House but acknowledge none of them.”

“Petty politics, in your family?” Zed asked dryly.

“Surprising, I know,” Dalan said. “Zorlan is one of the leading contenders for leadership, but he holds no authority over me. If I were to acknowledge any Cannith as the new patriarch, it would be Baron Merrix.”

“Assuming you didn’t just make a bid for control yourself,” Zed said.

Dalan laughed lightly. “Politics can be unpredictable,” he said. “But my own ambitions are not our concern. If what the Ghost Talons told us is true, Zorlan d’Cannith-or, more likely, someone claiming his authority-knows a great deal more about Marth’s activities than he ever divulged. Our own progress, such as it is, is also likely known to them. I despise being kept in the dark. I intend to discover if I have been manipulated by my superiors.” He sneered at Zed. “You may now make some biting comment regarding the irony of this moment. I am waiting.”

Zed only smiled. “I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said. “I’m just wondering how you’re going to handle the baron. He’s not a kind man, if rumor serves.”

“I shall handle him as I handle all my affairs,” Dalan said. “Cautiously and indirectly.”

“Riders incoming,” Pherris said, pointing at the city gates. The Karia Naille slowed to a smooth hover above the Vulyar lightning rail station. A squad of mounted horsemen in grim black armor were already galloping toward the sky tower.

“Why is it every time we go somewhere new, we’re always met by armed guards?” Dalan mused.

“Unmarked airships do not inspire trust,” Eraina said. “Why do you fly your ship with no marks of nation or house, d’Cannith? You must admit it looks terribly suspicious.”

“Because of the weight such colors carry,” he said, stepping to the edge of the deck as Omax secured the ship to the tower. “All nations have enemies, as do all Houses. Even worse, they all have allies-allies who may presume that I have come to aid them, or who would seek to ingratiate themselves to us. I haven’t the time for such nonsense.”

“You would prefer to appear suspicious to everyone you meet?”

“Quite so,” Dalan said. “I can deal with suspicion. It can almost invariably be allayed via diplomacy or bribery. At the very least I always know where I stand.”

Dalan stepped onto the tower bridge and climbed down the stairs. Eraina followed. Dalan smoothed one hand over the breast of his suit as he stepped out onto the street. The riders surrounded them. They held crossbows at the ready, half of them keeping a wary eye on the hovering airship.