Rise of the Seventh Moon: Heirs of Ash, Book 3 (36 page)

It took Tristam a moment to realize that Ashrem and Zamiel were speaking in their own voices again. Whatever message Norra had left for him, it was over now. He felt a lump rise in his throat. In a way, this illusion had been Norra’s last words. Again, he wished he could have done something to save her.

Instead, he would ensure her death had not been for nothing.

Tristam extended his senses outward, piercing the illusion that surrounded him. He watched as Zamiel and Ashrem moved around him, seeing through their forms until he found what he sought. The weave of the magic was nearly identical to the illusory Ashrem that Tristam had encountered in Metrol. All of it had
been a lie, meant to manipulate Tristam into taking up where Marth and Ashrem had left off.

But why? To what purpose? Why did Zamiel seem to wish mortals to create and use the Legacy?

The illusion faded, leaving Tristam in his bed again. There was only one person who could answer that question now.

“Eraina!” he called, struggling out of his bed. He grabbed Zed’s crutch, struggling to find his balance and hold the thick journal in the same hand. He limped down the corridor to find Eraina’s cabin open, but she was not inside. Instead he found her in the hold, kneeling in meditation beside Omax and Ijaac. They opened their eyes as he entered.

Tristam looked at Ijaac with some surprise.

“What?” Ijaac asked, blushing slightly. “A dwarf isn’t allowed to seek inner peace?”

“Tristam, are you all right?” Eraina asked, looking at him in concern.

Omax rose and grasped Tristam’s hand with one shoulder. In his excitement, the wounded artificer hadn’t even realized how close he was to falling over.

“The book,” Tristam said, flipping the pages open and holding it out toward her. “Can you read this?”

Eraina looked at the journal warily as she took it from Tristam’s hands. “What is this about, Tristam?” she asked.

“I’ll explain later,” he said. “Can you read it?”

“I think so,” she said. “It looks like the same dialect in the caverns beneath Fort Ash. I …” Eraina trailed off as she studied the text. She sat down on a barrel and stared at the pages more intently.

“Eraina, what is it?” Ijaac asked.

“I’m not sure,” Eraina said. “That all depends on if what I’m reading is true or not.”

“I thought you could tell what was true from what wasn’t,” the dwarf said, worried.

Eraina read in silence for several more minutes, ignoring the dwarf’s comment. Tristam leaned against a crate of rations, propping his injured foot on a barrel. Omax watched impassively. Ijaac returned to his meditation.

“It’s a transcription of the Draconic Prophecy,” Eraina said. “From the notes in the margins, this passage was originally discovered in a cavern guarded by a powerful flight of copper dragons. The author repeatedly expresses his thanks for a friend’s aid in informing him how to slip past the guards and magical protections. He doesn’t say who the friend is.”

“Zamiel,” Tristam said.

Omax looked at him in surprise. “Zed said that the book is over a century old, Tristam.”

“That’s really not surprising,” Eraina said. “Dragons are effectively immortal. They tend to live until something kills them.”

“What else does it say, Eraina?” Tristam asked.

“The actual prophecy is rather simple,” she said. “It begins by speaking of the past, recalling the battle between dragonkind and the demons, where the Legacy would be born on the plains of bone.”

“The battle that created the Boneyard,” Tristam said.

“But it also says that in creating the Legacy, the dragons awakened something powerful and ancient and drew its attention to this world,” Eraina said. “It is referred to as the Timeless, but it is a being with no true name. Its strength could be seen through the Dragon’s Eye. Each time the Legacy is used, a piece of its soul becomes trapped in this world forever. Though it has all the power any being can desire, it wishes for more.”

“More?” Ijaac asked. “What more could it need?”

“An end to solitude,” Omax said. “The Timeless must be the
same being that I have sensed each time the Legacy is used. What becomes of the pieces of its soul after they enter our world?”

“It does not say,” Eraina said, glancing from page to page. “It jumps abruptly. I think a page has been removed.”

“Zamiel wanted to keep the rest of the truth for himself,” Tristam said.

“The next part sounds quite a bit like the vision you had in Zul’nadn,” Eraina said. She frowned. “A few details are significantly different. You won’t like this.”

“Tell me,” Tristam said.

“It speaks of a conqueror, wise, powerful, and immortal,” she said.

Tristam frowned. “In Zul’nadn, the conqueror was mortal.”

“I warned you,” she said. “The conqueror will be one who has walked long in shadow, one who has denied his own kind and been cast out from his homeland. Though he has never touched the Legacy, he has witnessed and mastered its power.”

“So Zamiel isn’t looking for a conqueror,” Tristam said. “He
is
the conqueror. He was just looking for a pawn to craft the Legacy for him so he could fulfill his own destiny.”

“When the Legacy burns the sky,” Eraina said, “the Timeless will begin to awaken.”

“Referring to Marth’s attack on Sharn,” Tristam said.

“The veil between our worlds will grow thin,” she continued. “The last Heir of Ash will take up the Legacy and restore what has been shattered as the moon burns around him.”

“Hm,” Ijaac said grimly. “Sounds like that part has already happened, too.”

“What happens next?” Tristam asked.

“One moon must pass for each that has fallen,” Eraina said.

“Seven days,” Omax said. “For the
Seventh Moon
.”

“Then the plains of bone will know the touch of the
Timeless,” she continued. “The conqueror will seek him, and they shall become one. The conqueror’s enemies will recognize their weakness and be forever laid low.”

“Ouch,” Ijaac said. “Sounds like we’re destined to lose.”

No,” Tristam said fiercely. “Zamiel has lied to further his own ends before. Khyber, you already said part of the transcription is missing. We have no way of knowing what the missing section says.”

“Or if what we have seen is even genuine,” Omax said.

“Omax is right,” Eraina said. “All of this could be a trap, Tristam.”

“Maybe,” Tristam said, “but right now we have nothing else. Zamiel didn’t expect me to find that book just yet. He killed Norra to keep it a secret. He probably didn’t expect the prophecy to be fulfilled so soon, either. If the Boneyard really is manifest zone bordering on whatever realm this Timeless dwells in, maybe we can use the Legacy the same way we did in Zul’nadn. Maybe we can close it off from our world forever. We have one last chance.”

The others looked at Tristam dubiously.

“At this point we have nothing left to lose,” Tristam said. “If the prophecy is true, then it will resolve itself with or without us and we’ve already lost. I don’t believe that. I believe we still have a chance to stop Zamiel. It’s just as you said, Eraina. It ends with us.”

Ijaac looked at Tristam dubiously. “We have less than seven days, Tristam,” he said.

Tristam stood and limped toward the ladder. He climbed to the upper deck with some difficulty. Pherris looked up from where he had been napping beside the helm.

“Master Xain,” he said, beaming happily. “Good to see you on your feet.”

“Captain,” Xain said, nodding respectfully. “Can we fly from Sharn to the Boneyard in seven days?”

“If we leave now, fly full speed without any breaks, keep the wind behind us, and cut directly through the Mournland,” the gnome said dubiously.

“Good,” Tristam said, nodding eagerly. “When can we leave?”

T
WENTY
-E
IGHT

Z
ed was no expert where matters of airship maintenance were concerned. He preferred to leave those sorts of matters to Pherris and Tristam. Though he trusted their judgment, he was beginning to worry. The elemental ring that surrounded the ship had subtly begun to shift, day by day. What once burned a brilliant blue slowly changed. The flames now seethed a murky indigo. The deck rattled noticeably under their feet. Tristam often hurried around the deck, checking the struts and adjusting things.

Passing over the Mournland without incident was a small blessing. The creatures that roamed that place appeared, for the most part, to be bound near the earth. Zed sometimes noticed shifting spirits swimming in the mists far below them, but nothing attacked them directly. Dalan spent that entire day locked in his cabin, unwilling to look upon his homeland again. In contrast, Omax had stood at the rail the entire time, staring down at the thick mists. Once they crossed the border into the Talenta Plains, Omax returned below deck to meditate.

Now the vast homeland of the halflings stretched below them. It would not be long before they arrived at their goal. With this sunset, it would be seven days since the battle over Sharn. Zed was silently impressed. He hadn’t thought even the
Mourning Dawn
could make this trip so swiftly. He avoided
saying anything on the matter. Pherris was too occupied on their course. Any distraction, even praise, was likely to upset the gnome.

Zed had taken his evening’s dinner to the deck to enjoy a Plains sunset. His massive sword hung over one shoulder; he knew he would need it soon. As Zed looked for a barrel or crate to sit on, he noticed Gerith huddled in the corner of the deck. The halfling quietly stroked his glidewing’s neck and sang quietly to himself. Zed didn’t recognize the words, but the tone was moody and oddly heartbreaking. Zed sat quietly and listened. Near the end of the song, Seren climbed onto the deck and sat beside him, listening as well.

“That was beautiful,” Seren said when Gerith was done. “What was that?”

“A song of good-bye,” Gerith said. “A song for friends who will never come home again. My grandfather taught it to me.”

“Who are you singing for?” Zed asked, taking out his pipe and stuffing the bowl.

“For Norra and Shaimin,” Gerith said. “For Marth.”

“Marth?” Seren asked. “Why?”

The halfling looked at her with haunted eyes. “I know you did what had to be done, Seren,” Gerith said. “I hated Marth for what he did to the Ghost Talons … but when I learned what happened to his family, I started to wonder. How easy would it be for a good man to become what he became?”

“Too easy,” Zed said.

Gerith nodded. “I sing for them, and for myself.”

“Listen, Gerith, if you’re afraid of entering the Boneyard …” Zed said. “Everyone understands your tribe’s beliefs. You can take Blizzard and fly away before we land. No one will think any less of you.”

“I’m not talking about the Boneyard,” Gerith said vehemently.
“I already decided I was coming with you. I wouldn’t be able to face myself if I didn’t help. I’m not afraid of the curse.”

“Oh,” Zed said, taken aback by the fire in the halfling’s words. On their last visit, Gerith and the other halflings had been terribly suspicious of the Boneyard, believing any halfling who entered would die far from home, unmourned.

“You both know about my promise,” the halfling said. “I told my grandfather I wouldn’t return until I found a story greater than any of his. In Sharn, I realized that would never happen.”

“What do you mean?” Seren asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” the hafling said, waving them away. “It isn’t important.”

“Master Xain!” Pherris called from the helm. “We’re nearly there. Make ready.”

Tristam limped onto the deck, still unsteady on his crutch. He steadied his new sword on his belt as he stared out to the east. The jagged white spires of the Boneyard were already visible.

Eraina, Ijaac, and Omax emerged as well. Eraina stared at Zed for a long moment.

“What?” he asked, looking up at her uncomfortably.

“There is something different about you today, Arthen,” she said. Her eyes moved to his throat. A Silver Flame amulet now hung there openly.

“Just something I picked up in Nathyrr,” he said. His eyes flicked away nervously.

“Of course,” she replied.

“I still cannot believe we’re doing this,” Dalan said, stepping out of his cabin and standing beside Tristam. “I can state without reservation or hyperbole that this is your most ridiculous idea yet, Tristam.”

“It’s your ship, Dalan,” Tristam said. “Order her to turn about if you don’t want to do this. Or scrap her. That’s what you wanted to do back in Sharn, wasn’t it?”

Gerith looked at Dalan curiously, then returned to his course. Dalan’s dark eyes flicked toward Zed.

“Do not hurl my words at me out of context,” Dalan said. “From the very start of this, Zamiel’s hunger for the Legacy has caused no end of violence and pain. We could dismantle
Karia Naille
’s core, release her elemental to return to its home world, and bind a new one. The ship would still fly but the Legacy would be no more. Zamiel’s plans would be halted and we wouldn’t be throwing our lives away attacking a dragon.”

Aeven turned her cool gaze on them from the bow of the ship. “
Karia Naille
feels privileged to share in our adventures,” the dryad said, “but she would like nothing more than to be rejoined with her sisters.”