Rich Wulf - Flight of the Dying Sun

“So you blackmailed him into being your pawn,” Eraina said coldly.

“Blackmail? I offered him a chance at a new life,” Dalan corrected. “I always contacted Marth through intermediaries. My association with Jamus had always been secret. It was simple enough to have Jamus present my false information to Marth’s agents as well as to you, Eraina, in hopes that the Sentinel Marshals would interfere. If you could not stop Marth, you would at least interfere with his progress.”

“The truth would have been so much simpler,” Eraina said.

“Perhaps,” Dalan said. “My only true mistake was underestimating the amount of aid House Deneith would provide. If they had sent more than one Marshal to investigate, perhaps Marth would not have escaped Wroat.”

“I cannot dispute that,” Eraina said, not meeting Dalan’s eyes. “I warned my superiors that greater vigilance would be required. I tried, but we failed. I think they were embarrassed by my failure to protect Grove and have been unmotivated to pursue the case.”

“Eraina,” Dalan said. “You pride yourself on your ability to detect falsehood. It is a talent that causes me no end of discomfort. Listen to me now.”

The paladin looked up again, meeting Dalan d’Cannith’s gaze.

“Jamus Roland was my comrade,” Dalan said. “The two of us survived a great deal together. The adventures the Karia Naille ’s crew share would have been a footnote among our exploits during the Last War. I never intended for your father to die.” He smirked, though there was a hint of sadness in the expression. “I … never expected the old fool to steal the book from me himself. If I knew that was his plan, I would have simply given it to him. I’m still …” He coughed, clearing his voice. “I’m still amazed I did not recognize him when he visited me the night he died, but then he was a master of his trade.” Dalan offered a weak smile. “Believe me when I say that the only life I was intended to risk against Marth was my own.”

“And mine,” Tristam said. “You sent Omax and me to look for that damned book, knowing full well what Marth was capable of.”

“Only after I recognized all the earmarks of Jamus’s work,” Dalan said. “Seren used all of Roland’s techniques to break into my office. When I realized that Jamus’s life was at risk-that was when I sent you to investigate.”

“Without having any idea what we were walking into,” Tristam said.

“Omax is a warrior, even if you are not,” Dalan said. “He is always prepared.”

“True,” the warforged said.

Tristam glanced from Omax to Dalan angrily. “But you chose not to tell us any of this until now?” he asked, flustered.

Zed laughed. “Not trying to make excuses,” he said, “but does any of this really surprise you, coming from Dalan? I’d wager there’s a great deal more that he doesn’t think is worth mentioning.”

The crew was silent for a long time. Tristam glared at d’Cannith in tense silence. Dalan looked back impassively. Eraina folded her arms across her chest and stared at the deck.

“I don’t know what to think of all of this,” Tristam finally said, an edge of anger in his voice. “Did you know that Marth was Orren Thardis all along?”

Dalan blinked. “No,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I never knew that at all.” A wicked smile twisted his jowls. “A very interesting revelation, Tristam. That certainly explains a great deal.”

“Who in Khyber is Orren Thardis?” Zed asked. “Why is that name familiar?”

“He was the captain of my uncle’s third vessel,” Dalan said. “The Dying Sun . He followed Ashrem into Cyre on the Day of Mourning. I had assumed he was dead.”

“Like you assumed Kiris Overwood was dead,” Zed said.

“Hardly a coincidence,” Eraina said. “He must have rescued her from the Mournland. That would explain why she was willing to die for him.”

“If Thardis is Marth, his obsession with my uncle’s work becomes a great deal clearer,” Dalan said. “I knew Thardis hid his talents as an artificer, but I never knew he was a changeling.”

“What we never knew grows every day,” Gerith said.

Omax nodded vigorously.

“Seren salvaged a few of Kiris’s journals,” Tristam said. “They aren’t written in the same impossible code as Ashrem’s, so we may be able to learn something from them.”

“Excellent,” Dalan said. “We will have several days of idle time during our repairs and travel to Korth. To gain ground would be a welcome change.”

“I hope so,” Tristam said.

“Any more questions?” Dalan asked. “If you wish for truth, ask for it all. I don’t like these uncomfortable suspicions.”

“Only one,” Tristam said, looking at Dalan evenly. “Zed told me you recruited me to replace Marth. Did you really pick me because you thought I was an easily manipulated fool?”

“Those weren’t my exact words,” Zed interrupted.

“Yes,” Dalan said curtly, returning Tristam’s gaze. “When you served my uncle you were headstrong, impetuous, and eager to please. The slightest criticism crushed you, while the smallest compliment could buy your loyalty for weeks. I believed you would be the perfect pawn, talented but malleable.”

Tristam’s face darkened.

“Stay your temper, Tristam,” Dalan said. “You’ve proven me quite wrong, and I am glad for that. Your ability to think for yourself has saved us all, time and again.”

Tristam’s eyes widened, surprised by Dalan’s use of his first name.

“Marshal, am I lying?” Dalan asked.

“No,” the paladin replied.

“There you have it,” Dalan said. “Now if you will pardon me, I am not a young man, and I am still exhausted from my kidnapping and torture. If there is anything further, I shall be in my cabin.” Dalan stood and made to return to his chambers.

“I don’t think I trust you anymore, Dalan,” Tristam said to the guild master’s back.

“Good,” Dalan replied. “You’ve finally caught up with the rest of the world. Thank you again for saving my life.” He closed the door behind him.

“Infuriating man,” Eraina said, returning to the bow of the ship.

Zed chuckled and strolled off to help Omax with the ship’s maintenance. Gerith disappeared into the galley. Tristam stared at the hatch of Dalan’s cabin for nearly a minute, then headed below deck, mumbling something about Kiris’s journals. Seren started to follow him, but stopped. She moved to Dalan’s cabin, knocking quietly on the hatch.

“Enter,” said Dalan’s voice.

She slid the hatch open a crack and slipped inside. Dalan sat on his cot, a book open in his lap. Gunther lay at the foot of the bed, nose nestled between his shaggy paws. His tail thumped the cot in recognition.

“Seren,” Dalan said, looking up over his reading glasses. “What can I do for you?”

“Was Jamus Roland really your friend?” she asked softly.

“A complex question,” Dalan said. “As I have told you before, the term ‘friend’ is not one that I value. It is bandied about too easily. A man who calls himself a friend might draw his sword against you if it serves his purposes tomorrow, particularly during the Last War. We were spies, Seren. Such men do not give or accept trust easily. Yet I trusted Jamus Roland. I fought beside him, and we saved one another’s lives on a few occasions.” Dalan laughed. “What’s more, I even liked him. I can count the people I have ever truly liked on less than one hand. So if that is what you call a friend, then yes, he was my friend.”

Seren hugged her arms against her chest, chewing over a thought for several moments before speaking. “Is that why you really kept me here, then?” she asked. “Because I knew Jamus and you felt sorry for me?”