Rich Wulf - Flight of the Dying Sun

The artificer still stood in the center of the station, glaring up through the smoke at the ring of red fire.

“Tristam!” Seren shouted. “Help us!”

Tristam looked at her, his anger replaced with fear and concern. He ran to her side, dodging debris as he tucked his wand back into his belt.

“We have to get out of here!” she called to him.

Tristam’s eyes narrowed with a sudden idea.

“This is a rail station” he said, snatching his bag of tools. “Let’s take the lightning rail.”

He ran toward the surviving lightning coach and threw open the door, tossing his tools inside before returning to help Ijaac load Omax into the coach.

“Are you sure this thing even still works?” Ijaac asked.

Seren looked up fearfully. Through the dusty haze she could see the silhouette of Dying Sun still hovering overhead. Flashes of lightning continued to tear into the station. Obviously Marth’s offer of compromise had been revoked.

“I’ll make it work,” Tristam said grimly.

The inside of the coach was divided into two cars, a small pilot’s chamber and a passenger area large enough for a dozen customers. Much like the station, the top of the coach was constructed of frosted glass, now long since broken. Omax lay across several seats, his eye shining dimly as he slipped in and out of whatever passed for consciousness for a warforged. Seren knelt beside him, clasping one great metal hand in both of hers. Tristam whispered encouragement to his friend and climbed into the engineer’s seat, grasping the controls. The artificer closed his eyes in concentration as he channeled his will into the slumbering vehicle. Seren felt a tingle at the back of her neck as the coach flared to life. A circle of electricity erupted around the front end of the car. The entire vehicle shook violently and hovered a few inches higher above the conductor stones.

“It’s working!” Ijaac exclaimed over the thunderous blasts from above.

“It’s starting to,” Tristam growled. “These coaches are bound to elementals, like the airship, but built to react to the dragon-marked engineers of House Orien. I have to convince the elemental to help us.”

A heap of rubble crashed into the floor only a few feet away. Ijaac swore and rose a hand to protect his face from spraying gravel, then slammed the coach door shut. “I don’t want to be a pest,” the dwarf said, “but can you hurry?”

“Trying,” Tristam said. Sweat trickled down his temple as he focused his concentration on the controls. “After four years locked in a box, the elemental is a little upset. All it wants to do is run free and wreck things.”

Seren looked at the wrought iron gates that blocked their path, then back at Tristam. “So let it,” she said.

Tristam opened his eyes suddenly. “That’s brilliant, Seren,” he said.

The coach shook even more violently. The ring of electricity burned a sickly green. A savage roar rolled up out of the depths of somewhere, as if echoing from another world.

“Fly,” Tristam whispered, and the word seemed to through the vehicle’s metal body.

The lightning coach bucked and surged forward on the tracks in a violent release of motion. Seren flinched as the car plunged directly toward the eastern gates. The car burst through unharmed, scattering metal and stone as it exploded onto the streets of Metrol. A dancing trail of energy moved ahead of them. The conductor stones shone intensely as they approached, as if anticipating being used again.

Seren looked behind them, through the roof of the passenger car. Dying Sun broke through the clouds of smoke that consumed the lightning rail station, her ring burning fierce red as she soared after them. The lance burned blue, and a bolt of lightning struck the side of the car. The air elemental roared in defiance, driving the car to greater speeds. The coach turned a wide corner and dove into an underground tunnel. Behind them, Dying Sun soared out of view. The electric aura cast freakish patterns of color upon the stone as they screamed through the tunnel.

“Marth will catch up on the far side of the tunnel,” Tristam said, stepping out of his seat. “Take the controls, Ijaac.”

“What?” the dwarf asked in a surprised voice. “What do I do? I’m no artificer. I don’t know how to drive this thing.”

“You don’t need to know how to drive it,” Tristam said, standing and pushing the dwarf into the seat. “Just hold the controls so that you can hear the elemental’s voice in your head. Be angry and keep the coach angry.”

“Good at that,” Ijaac replied. “Been married.”

Omax’s hand tightened on Seren’s. The warforged’s eye now burned with a faint red tinge. Tristam knelt beside them, looking at his friend with a worried frown. He whispered and moved his hands over the warforged’s battered body, repairing the damage as well as he could.

“Omax, can you speak?” Tristam asked.

“Tristam,” the warforged said. A rattle escaped his throat. Seren thought it might be a chuckle.

“Omax, I’m sorry,” Tristam said.

“For what?” the warforged asked.

“For letting this happen to you,” he said. “We never should have stayed here. I’ve ruined everything”

“Then fix it, Tristam,” Omax said weakly. “As you always do.”

Tristam nodded.

“Coming up on the end of the tunnel, Tristam!” Ijaac shouted.

The artificer nodded and rose, drawing his wand and staring up through the roof of the coach.

“It is strange, Seren,” the warforged whispered.

“What’s strange, Omax?” Seren asked, trying to keep him talking.

“I am not sure if I was ever truly alive,” he said. “I am not sure what it means, to live. But now I find … that I do not want to die.”

“You’re not going to die, Omax,” Seren said. “We’re almost home. We’re going back to Karia Naille .”

“Home,” the warforged answered, savoring the word.

“It’s like you said, Omax,” Seren said. “War will try to tear us apart. We have to remain together. We need you, Omax.”

“I am with you, Seren,” the warforged said, his head slumping against his chest. The light in his eye faded.

“Brace yourselves!” Ijaac shouted.

The lightning coach burst out of the tunnel and back onto the streets again. Heaps of rubble and awkwardly shaped buildings huddled on all sides, but the rail stretched on, unimpeded. The eerie lights of living spells burned in the shadows, gathering around the conductor stones as if seeking the warmth of their magic. The coach surged on with a defiant cry, scattering the spells as a predator scattered curious scavengers. The coach sped up the steeply sloped streets. Ahead, the tracks climbed a narrow bridge over the River Melandor.

“Where is Marth?” Tristam demanded, knuckles white on the haft of his wand.

Red fire rose from beneath the bridge as Dying Sun appeared before them. The ship’s lance shimmered and erupted with energy, tearing into the bridge. Metal and stone exploded as the center of the bridge tumbled into the river. The water glowed green as a conductor stone vanished into its depths.

“Khyber,” Ijaac swore.

“Faster!” Tristam said. “We have to jump the gap!”

“This is as angry as I get, Tristam,” Ijaac said. “I’m a bit too terrified to be properly mad!”

Tristam darted back into the pilot’s chamber and grasped the controls with one hand. His brow furrowed as he concentrated, glaring up at Dying Sun as she hovered over the bridge. The coach screamed in fury and accelerated, climbing the bridge. The bridge cracked and snapped around them as the vehicle’s weight pressed against the conductor stones. The bridge jolted and tilted suddenly to the left. Tristam tightened his grasp on the controls as they sped toward the edge of the bridge. The elemental shrieked in triumph as the coach soared through the air for one glorious moment. Half of the bridge folded into the water behind it. The coach landed heavily on the other side, the conductor stones spraying sparks in a fiery burst. They careened down the far side bridge. Seren watched the conductor stones crumble into the river one by one as the coach sped onward. The bridge collapsed entirely, as the coach barreled back into the streets, rounding a sharp corner and speeding deeper into the city.