Мэтт Форбек - The Queen of Death

“Thanks,” he said. He surprised himself by how much he meant it.

The changeling shrugged as if she’d done nothing more than slap down a stinging insect. She bent down and wiped her blade on the lizardman’s sash then sheathed it.

Kandler reached down and helped Sallah to her feet. The lady knight flushed with shame at not having been able to defend herself at the end.

“I should have been the one over you,” she said.

“Play your cards right, and maybe you’ll get a chance later,” Kandler said with a grin.

“I’m not hurt,” Burch said as he extricated himself from the mess of supplies strewn about the back of the wagon. “If anyone cares, that is.”

A bit of blood trickled down from the shifter’s scalp, but he didn’t appear to notice it. He grinned at the others as he wiped the red from his face. “Looks like I missed a good scrap. Everyone still breathing?”

As if in answer, the roar of the airship grew louder. Kandler craned back his neck to look up at the Phoenix and had to step back out of the way as a rope ladder fell down where he had been.

Xalt’s head poked out over the gunwale. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Kandler shouted as he reached for the ladder and started climbing toward the airship’s deck. Sallah followed close behind him. “How about up there? Where’s Esprë?”

“She has the wheel,” the warforged said.

“And Monja?” Burch asked, shading his eyes as he peered up at the Phoenix.

“She’s fine.”

“What happened to the third flyer?”

“The soarwing you forced toward the ring of fire? It’s here on the deck behind me, half-cooked.” The warforged glanced back over his shoulder. “I believe Monja is already cleaning the corpse. She said something about not wanting lo waste a single bit of food before a long ocean voyage.” “Fantastic,” Burch said, flashing a toothy grin. “I hear those things taste like stirges.”

Kandler breathed in deep the scent of the open sea. From here, the sun still set over Khorvaire, but he knew that this would be the last such dusk he’d enjoy with that piece of land framed in it for some time. The sun’s dying rays lit up the sky like glowing lava, liming the clouds in pinks, purples, and reds. In the distance, he spied a flock of what looked like seagulls working their way along the shore, and he wondered for a moment if they were soarwings instead.

It had been years since Kandler had seen the ocean, and he found that he had missed it more than he’d known. He couldn’t hear the vacillating roar of the pounding surf over the crackling of the Phoenix’s ring of fire, but he watched a pod of dolphins playing in the waves and let his mind carry him back to more peaceful times when he could have enjoyed a simple day on a beach.

Growing up in Sharn, the largest city in Breland, he’d spent many a day on the shores of the Dagger River or wandering along the edge of the Hilt. On more than one occasion, his parents had brought the whole family out to Zilspar to visit family. From there they’d made ventures to the ocean proper, and Kandler had fallen in love with it. The smells always conjured thoughts of travel and adventure in his mind, and he credited those trips with inspiring the wanderlust that had caused him to join up with the Citadel as a young man.

As a Brelish agent, he’d traveled throughout much of Khorvaire. He’d seen the Lake of Fire in the Demon Wastes. He’d visited with the Old Woman of the Swamp who stared into the Pond of Shadows in the distant Shadow Marches. He’d walked through the Court of King Kaius in Karrnath, and met more diplomats and mercenaries than he could count.

Since marrying Esprina, though, he’d given up much of that. They’d only been together for a short time before the Day of Mourning—far too short—and after that he’d dedicated himself to taking care of Esprë. Bereft of her mother, she’d required much of his attention, and their bond had grown to the point that he considered her to be far more than merely a daughter by marriage.

After the end of the Last War, he’d helped found Mardakine as a means of plumbing the depths of the Mournland. He’d hoped to discover what had killed his beloved wife along with so many other souls. For whatever reason—responsibilities to Esprë, to everyone else in Mardakine—he’d never made much progress.

While he understood that he couldn’t have expected to unlock the secrets of the Mournland, his failure to do so still disappointed him. His head knew that even if he’d spent every waking moment scouring that horrible, wasted place, he probably wouldn’t have had any better luck. His heart, though, bore the guilt of not having given every moment of his life to solving that particular riddle.

He heard the footsteps behind him, soft and familiar, and he waited for her to speak. She opened her mouth and began to say something, then flung her arms around his waist instead. He turned around and embraced her as well. “What’s that for?” he said to Esprë.

The young elf smiled up at him. “I just wanted to say thanks.”

“No need,” he said, tousling her hair.

“You don’t even know what I’m thanking you for.” She grinned up at him, and his heart melted. When happy, she reminded him so much of her mother.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You don’t need to say a thing. I already know.”

“I still want to say it,” she said. “For my sake, not yours.”

“In that case, don’t let me get in your way.”

He laughed, and it came light and easy. Now that they were finally on their way across the ocean, he felt as if a millstone had been lifted from his neck. The decision had been made, and there would be no turning back. They would face their fate together.

No danger lurking behind them could do more than pale before the danger they had chosen to confront. “Thank you,” Esprë said, “for saving my life.”

“Back there?” Kandler gave her a confused look. “I didn’t do anything more than keep a wagon from crashing. You should be thanking Burch—and Te’oma, I suppose.”

“I already did.” Esprë frowned. “Thanking Te’oma wasn’t easy.”

“I don’t suspect it was. One good deed doesn’t make up for everything else.”

“She did help Burch kill Nithkorrh too.” Esprë shrugged as if to say how sad it was that there wasn’t anything they could do about it.

“I thought you came here to thank me,” said Kandler. “Sounds like I’ve been pretty useless.”

Esprë smiled and gave him another hug. “I think you’ve done a few amazing things since we left Mardakine too.” “Thanks,” he said, letting gentle sarcasm drip from his tongue.

“No, thank you.” She hesitated for a moment. “For everything. For taking me in after my mother died.”

“You’re my stepdaughter.” Kandler couldn’t conceive of having done otherwise for her.

“Yes, but that’s not always enough, is it? Don’t you know all those stories about wicked stepfathers?”

“That’s stepmothers.”

“Well, I don’t have one of them, so I can’t speak to that. I just know you came through for me at a time when you had to be suffering a lot too.”

Kandler grimaced. “Don’t worry about that,” he said in a rough voice. “Helping you out got me through he worst of it. You were there for me just as much.”

“And—and thank you for coming after me. You didn’t have to do that.”

Kandler stepped back and held Esprë out at arms’ length. “Are you mad? I’d never let anyone run off with you like that.”

“I … I know.” Esprë refused to meet Kandler’s eyes. “When Te’oma first took me, though—when she was posing as my aunt—I wondered if you’d bother to come after me to say good-bye. I know I’ve been a horrible burden on you—” “That’s not true—”