Мэтт Форбек - The Queen of Death

“I said we re going to Argonnessen to take on the dragons, and I meant it,” said Kandler.

He scowled down at Monja, the halfling shaman who’d joined them when they’d passed through the Wandering Inn. Bringing her along at the time had seemed like a good idea—they’d needed a healer like her, and Burch had vouched for her—but now Kandler wondered if bringing on another passenger had been worth it.

Monja arched an eyebrow at Kandler. She stood on the lower part of the airship’s wheel so she could see over the bridge’s console as she steered the ship. A natural flyer who’d spent many hours in the air atop the scaly glidewings the halflings of the Talenta Plains sometimes used as mounts, she’d made quick work of mastering the ship. For that, at least, she’d proved her worth—that and the way she’d brought Kandler and Sallah back from the brink of death just the night before.

“She just asked how wise that was, boss,” Burch said. The shifter sat perched on his bare feet atop the back rail of the bridge. The cold winds whistling down off the Ironroot Mountains to the east ruffled the long, black mane of hair that swept back from his deep-tanned, feral face. “Fair enough?”

Kandler wanted to snarl at his old friend, but he knew he needed as many people on his side as he could. Angering someone who’d always had his back wouldn’t help that.

“Look,” he said, glancing at each of the others. “It may not be a great plan, but it’s the only one we have.”

Xalt nodded. Kandler hadn’t known the warforged long, but he had proven himself trustworthy over and over. If Xalt saw the logic in Kandler’s reasoning, then the justicar could feel confident in his own judgment. As a creature born in the forges of war—or those of House Cannith—his impassive face seemed impossible to read.

Duro, the dwarf who’d led Kandler and the others deep into the heart of the mountains to find the lair of the dragon Nithkorrh, grunted and ran a hand through his long, brown beard. “My people lived under a dragon’s shadow for centuries. That was just one. Taking on a whole continent filled with the winged beasts ...

Sallah nodded in agreement, the sun glinting off her red curls and her battered armor. When Kandler had first met her only a few weeks back, the steel had glimmered like a mirror. Both it and she had been through much since then.

“We should head straight for Thrane,” she said, no hint of doubt in her voice. “The Church will take us in and provide us sanctuary.”

Awry grin twisted Te’oma’s flat lips like a fold in a seam of fabric. “Can you protect the girl there as well as you did in Mardakine?”

“We were but five knights then,” Sallah said, her emerald eyes flashing. The fact that she now stood alone, the other knights—including her father—dead, added to the frustration in her tone. “In Flamekeep, we would have an army to protect her.”

“It wouldn’t be enough,” said Esprë.

The young elf had said little since dawn had broken over the mountains off the port bow. All eyes turned to her now.

Although she looked younger than any of the others, Esprë was at least twice as old as Randier. Elves took far more time to reach maturity than any of the other races, and with luck she would live many times longer than Kandler had any hope for himself.

Despite this, Kandler couldn’t help but think of her as a little girl—his little girl, in fact. She looked just like she had the day he’d married her mother Esprina years before, and he could still see his dead wife every time he looked at her face. She was all he had left of his wife, and he planned to fight for her to his last breath.

“Kandler is right,” Esprë said. “Too many people want me dead. I can’t hide forever.”

Sallah put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. Her gauntlet looked massive next to Esprë’s face. “You wouldn’t have to hide in Flamekeep,” she said. “The Silver Flame will protect you.”

“Might as well paint a target on her forehead,” Burch said as he took his crossbow from across his back and checked its action. “Soon as the world knows where she is, it’s over.”

“We have to take the fight to her attackers,” said Kandler.

“Didn’t say that either.” Burch pulled the trigger, and the string on his empty weapon twanged.

Duro snorted. “You think you can hide her away, like a treasure under a mountain? My people have tried that time and again, friend. It never works.”

“I made a life of it.” The shifter leaned back against the rail behind him.

“Vol managed to locate her once before,” Te’oma said. “She will do so again.”

“Sure,” Burch said. Satisfied, he slung his weapon across his back again and slipped off his perch. “If you stay put. A moving target, that’s a lot harder to hit.”

“It’s not just that horrible lich after her,” Sallah said, sweeping her hair back from her face. “It’s everyone. If I do not return soon, Jaela Daran will send other knights after me. Every nation of power has an interest in the dragonmark that Esprë bears. Karrnath knows about her now, too. Do you think the Captain of Bones has not already sent word of the reappearance of the Mark of Death back to King Kaius?” Kandler rubbed his eyes. Too many things threatened Esprë at once. He couldn’t possibly take on them all—at least not at once.

“One thing at a time,” he said. “We can’t sit around and wait for someone to come and kidnap Esprë again—or kill her instead. We have to take the fight to them.”

“To whom ?” Sallah asked. “The dragons of Argonnessen? Or the Blood of Vol? Or the Emerald Claw? Or the elves of Aerenal? They all want her dead.”

Kandler bit back a snarl. The start of a romance had blossomed between Sallah and him. After Esprina died, he’d given up on that kind of love ever finding him again. Still, he refused to let his feelings for the lady knight influence his thinking about keeping his stepdaughter safe.

He’d hoped that Sallah would side with him, but he should have known better. Sallah had lost so much already on her quest to bring Esprë safely to Thrane. She wouldn’t give up hope of accomplishing her own goal. She couldn’t.

“We start at the top,” Kandler said. “We take down the dragons after her, and we send a signal to the others.”

Monja giggled. To Burch, she said, “Is he always so silly? ‘Take down the dragons.’ Ha!”

“I’m not joking,” Kandler said.

Monja lost her smile. “Then you are a bigger fool than you seem,” she said. “You cannot expect to destroy all those dragons. We only barely managed to kill one yesterday—one.”

“Challenging them all is folly,” Duro said, “but we don’t have to. Having guarded a dragon’s lair for many years, I know a thing or two about those creatures. Fact is if you ask three dragons a question, you get nine different answers. They can’t agree on a damned thing.”

“Not even destroying the Mark of Death?” Xalt said. “The dragons put a halt to a war against the elves to eradicate that dragonmark once. It seems able to inspire an amazing level of diplomacy among mortal foes.”

“That’s why we’re going to Aerenal first,” said Kandler, “to ask for the elves’ help.”

“The pointy-eared bastards will kill us all,” said Duro. He shifted his weight and scratched his neck. “Well, me for sure. They don’t much care for dwarves, I hear.”

“Didn’t you want to go to the Wandering Inn first?” Monja asked Kandler. “My people won’t be much help against the dragons, I’m sure, but they can get us well fed before we head off.”