Rise of the Seventh Moon: Heirs of Ash, Book 3 (25 page)

After half a minute, another person clambered into the flooding chamber. Zed couldn’t see it clearly through the dark water, but it could only be Zamiel, returned to his human form to pursue them. He barely even paused before charging down the north tunnel. Waiting nearly another minute for him to leave, Zed finally emerged from the water. Eraina rose beside him, doing her best not to cough.

“We don’t even know what’s down that way,” Zed said, “but we know Fort Ash is the other way. Let Zamiel think he’s chasing us while we get out of here.”

“What do you think is down that way?” Eraina asked.

“Let me see your arm,” she said.

“No time,” he said, clutching his injured limb against his body.

“Zed,” she said more urgently. “Stop before you hurt yourself permanently.”

He sighed and relented, recognizing that to continue arguing against her was pointless. Eraina leaned close, holding his forearm gingerly. Her fingers suddenly tightened and he heard a quick snap. Zed winced and bit his lower lip to keep from screaming.

“You could have told me you were going to set it,” he rasped.

Eraina smiled demurely and splinted a shaft of wooden debris to his arm. “We can fix it properly later, after I’ve had time to rest.”

“Fine,” he said. He tucked his injured arm into his shirt as an improvised sling. “We have to get back to Fort Ash as quickly as we can. This cave is flooding fast, and I have a feeling there’s one good reason a sudden storm like this would have happened.” Zed looked at her meaningfully.

“Aeven is here,” Eraina whispered.

“Let’s hope,” he said.

They hurried through the flooding cavern as quickly as they dared. They reached the cavern where Zamiel had revealed himself and passed beyond into the tunnel from which he had come. The natural stone cavern ascended, becoming hewn stairs. Eraina drew her short sword and led the way carefully as they emerged into a stone cellar filled with barrels and crates. A flight of wooden stairs led the way to a closed door. There were no guards to be seen. The raucous sound of the thunderstorm resounded through the fortress, along with the clash and cry of battle.

“What’s going on out there?” Zed asked.

As if in answer, the cellar door burst open, nearly falling off its hinges from the force of it. A hunchbacked ghoul clambered out onto the stairs, sniffing the air eagerly. It threw back its head and gave a piercing cry. Three more of the wretches joined it on the stairs. Eraina held out her holy symbol and shouted in Boldrei’s name. The creatures shrieked and scattered. One withdrew,
cowering behind the doorway. The other three tumbled off the stairs and scurried into the shadows beneath. Eraina ran up the stairs, Zed barely a step behind. She lashed out with her sword as she emerged through the doorway, keeping the last ghoul at bay. Zed slammed the door behind them and looked up.

The
Seventh Moon
now hovered above the courtyard, her elemental ring burning angry red. The ship moved much more ponderously than Zed remembered. Even from here, he could see soldiers fighting on the deck above, struggling to expel the undead that had invaded their ship. He searched the sky, but could see no sign of
Karia Naille
. Undead continued to burst through the gates and climb over the walls. The defenders of Fort Ash were fighting a losing battle.

“There’s nothing we can do to stop the
Moon
from down here,” Eraina said. “We have to escape.”

Zed pointed at a stable on the far side of the courtyard. The ghouls and specters had not yet invaded it. “Will your goddess forgive us if we steal a couple of horses to get out of here?” he said.

“I think she may take our circumstances into consideration,” Eraina answered, pushing past him toward the stable.

The instant Eraina unlatched the door, the horses began to whinny and kick at their enclosures. The animals could sense the unnatural creatures outside and were terrified. She quickly moved toward the two nearest steeds, soothing them with a few whispered words and calming them enough to accept saddles. Zed, feeling useless with his broken arm, stood in the shadows of the door and kept watch. Strangely, none of the Cyrans had moved toward the stable at all. None of them even seemed to be making any effort to escape, other than the ones aboard the
Seventh Moon
.

Either Marth’s soldiers were entirely confident that they would
emerge victorious, or they were willing to die to the last man to repel the invaders. Whatever the truth, the time to leave was long past. Eraina led the two horses out of their stalls and handed Zed the reins of one. He eagerly climbed up into the saddle. The animal shifted from foot to foot, as impatient to be gone from this place as he was.

With a short cry, Eraina kicked her steed into a gallop and led the way out of Fort Ash. They ran as quickly as they could, before the undead could gather their wits to attack or the Cyrans realize that they were intruders. In seconds they had escaped the city walls and flew off down the road toward Nathyrr.

“Where is
Karia Naille
?” Eraina called out as they rode. She searched the sky desperately when the canopy allowed.

“She must be here somewhere,” Zed said. “All of that back there couldn’t have been a coincidence.”

“If she is here, she isn’t in time to stop the
Seventh Moon
,” Eraina said. “Marth is already on his way to Sharn.”

Zed nodded grimly.

“So what do we do next?” Eraina asked.

The sound of approaching horsemen drove them off to hide in the underbrush. Zed watched the road, expecting to see more Cyran soldiers. His eyes widened in surprise. A platoon of Thrane knights rode down the road, led by a warrior with a familiar banner.

“Draikus,” Zed said.

“The Thrane are working with Marth?” Eraina asked.

“No,” Zed said, shaking his head. “For all his faults, Draikus is no traitor. He wouldn’t ally himself with a man like Marth.”

“Then what is he doing here?” she asked.

“Maybe he followed us?” Zed offered, though he didn’t know how that could be possible. Zed frowned.

“I recognize that look,” Eraina said. “You have a plan—one that you know that I will dislike.”

“Actually,” Zed said. “I’m just scowling because
I
don’t like this plan. I’m about to suggest we do what I hate most.”

Eraina studied him for a long moment. “Ask for help?” she guessed.

Zed nodded.

N
INETEEN

I
t was strange how, after all her adventures, something like running through the passageways of a renegade airship while the crew battled a hostile invading force in the middle of a rampaging magical storm just ended up feeling strangely familiar to Seren. Maybe she was becoming too jaded.

“The ship’s elemental housing chamber is this way,” Tristam said, leading them deeper into the ship. “We can disable the
Seventh Moon
the same way we did last time.”

“But this time
Karia Naille
might not be here to catch us,” Seren warned.

“Try not to think about that,” Tristam said. “I saw life rings up on the deck. Maybe we’ll have time to run up and grab one. Their enchantments are usually strong enough to carry a few people float safely to the ground at one time. Most of the time.”

Shaimin glanced behind them uncomfortably. “You say this is how you disabled the
Seventh Moon
last time?” he asked.

“Almost exactly what we did last time,” Tristam said. He reached for the door of the containment chamber.

“Wait, Tristam,” Shaimin warned, but he spoke too late.

As Tristam opened the door, several hatches opened in the hallway behind them. A dozen Cyran soldiers stepped out, aiming crossbows at them. Marth waited patiently in the chamber beyond,
amethyst wand in one hand. The walls of the housing chamber were still blackened with smoke from Tristam and Marth’s last battle here. The ship’s old core was a shattered husk. The glass half of the floor was still shattered, creating a yawning void between Tristam and Marth. The airship had ascended so high that the land below was only partially visible through the pouring rain.

“Hello, Tristam,” Marth said.

“You were expecting us,” Tristam answered.

Marth sighed. “Throughout this adventure I have suffered terribly for underestimating you, Tristam,” the changeling said. “Now you have some understanding of how I feel.”

“You moved the ship’s core,” Tristam said.

Marth shrugged. “When I rebuilt her, yes. After going to all the trouble to repair
Kenshi Zhann
, why leave her vulnerable to your sabotage again? Not to mention I wasn’t looking forward to cleaning this room anyway. You truly made a mess of this place.” He looked at the shattered floor and scorched walls with distaste.

“Are you going to kill us?” Shaimin asked.

“I should,” Marth said. “Two weeks ago I might have. Difficult to say. Now, things have changed. None of you are any further danger to me, and you’re about to replace me as pawns in a larger game. So I leave the choice to you. Drop your weapons and return to the main deck. I shall explain everything that is about to happen.”

“I’ve already heard your rhetoric, old friend,” Shaimin said. “I’ll take my chances with the storm before I sit through it again.”

The elf took a step forward and fell through the gaping floor. Tristam instinctively lunged forward to catch him and would have fallen out himself if Omax had not quickly seized his arm. He was too late. Shaimin was gone. Under any other circumstances that might have been a relief.

“Count on an elf to opt for the dramatic ending,” Marth said.
“The rest of you, please drop your weapons and surrender to my soldiers.”

Tristam dropped his wand. He heard Seren drop her dagger as well. A guard stepped forward and pulled his wrists behind his back, binding them with coarse rope. Another did the same with Seren, while yet another produced thick manacles to bind Omax. Seren cast him a confused look, which he returned in kind as they were led to the upper deck. This didn’t make sense. Why was Marth allowing them to live?

On the upper deck, Cyran soldiers were just dumping the last of the fallen undead over the side. Others carried their fallen brethren below deck. Tristam tried not to look at them. Though they were enemies, the guilt for what he had done to invade their fortress weighed heavily upon him. It seemed especially pointless now. Their deaths had been for nothing.

Marth emerged from a door on the opposite side of the deck. His pale eyes searched the storm curiously. “I would have thought
Karia Naille
would have come for you by now,” he said. “Every time she appears in my life, there is always a storm. How do you manage that, Tristam? You are no Lyrandar. Surely weather control is beyond your simple talents.”

Tristam didn’t say anything. He glared at the changeling and took some satisfaction that he knew something Marth did not, for once. Seren and Omax stood to either side of him. The guards stood in a half-circle around them, keeping their crossbows ready.

Marth sighed. “I suppose it is irrelevant. Captain Gerriman knows better than to challenge me directly. Your ship’s speed may be greater, but my weapons will tear her from the sky.”

“The
Mourning Dawn
defeated you before,” Tristam said.

Marth sneered. “You understand nothing, Xain,” he said. “Let me show you something.”

The airship banked and made a wide turn. Far below them, Tristam could see Fort Ash, awash with turmoil. Cyran soldiers and undead monstrosities tore into one another on the walls, in the courtyard, and even in the forest beyond. Marth drew a small sphere of shimmering black glass from the pocket of his silken vest. He cupped it in one palm and closed his eyes, slowly drawing the tips of his fingers in a circle over its surface.

“My apologies, Omax,” Marth said. “I always admired you, but you brought this fate upon yourself.”

A sensation of bitter cold washed over the deck of the
Seventh Moon
. Lightning flashed through the air around them, leaving the smell of burnt ozone. Tristam felt a strange, numb sensation fall over him as his ability to sense magic began to ebb. Beside him, Omax groaned in pain and fell to one knee. The blue light in his eyes flickered.

“You’re using the Legacy?” Tristam said, looking at Omax in horror. “You’ll kill him!”

“The irony stuns me,” Marth said. “It is acceptable for you to unleash an army of horrors to murder my followers, but I should not kill one of yours to protect them? We are not as different from one another as you like to believe, Tristam.”

A shockwave of energy rippled out from the
Seventh Moon
, washing over the forest and castle below. Above them, the clouds parted as the storm melted away in a perfect sphere around them. As the Legacy’s effect passed over the land, the undead … stopped. The ghouls and zombies fell dead where they stood. The ghosts were simply no more. The Cyrans stood dumfounded in their fortress, weapons at the ready. After a few moments, Tristam could hear the distant sound of their cheers.