Rise of the Seventh Moon: Heirs of Ash, Book 3 (20 page)

Zed nodded and ran in that direction. Shaimin hesitated. Being discovered and pursued was bad enough. The idea of crawling into a hole and waiting to die was distasteful to say the least. He considered, for a moment, striking off on his own. The inquisitive glared back at him, as if reading his thoughts. He sighed and trudged on after them.

The inside of the broken chapel looked as if it had been untouched for centuries. Green mold crawled upon the walls. The wooden floors were cracked and warped. In the gaps between them Shaimin could see water glinting far below.

“There’s some sort of cave under here,” he said, kneeling and examining the gaps between the floorboards. “Perhaps we could escape.”

Zed stood beside the elf, spitting between the floorboards and turning an ear. “That’s a sixty foot drop at least,” he said. “We don’t even know if the water is deep enough for us to drop safely, or what else is down there.”

“We know what’s up here,” the elf retorted.

Outside the moans of the undead were met with the thunderous explosions of Marth’s magic. Zed and Eraina stood side by side at
the narrow door, watching the battle outside.

“I wish I’d brought a crossbow or something,” Zed said. “I might have a clear shot at Marth from here.”

“He wouldn’t have offered you such a target if his magic didn’t protect him, Arthen,” Shaimin said. “We are no threat to him, cornered like we are.”

“If you don’t have any helpful ideas, be quiet,” Zed snapped.

Shaimin scowled. For most of his career, he had prized the calm control with which he approached all situations. If there was one thing he detested more than anything else, it was feeling helpless. Only children and cripples could not help themselves—and a Thuranni was neither. He had weakened himself by associating with these people. Perhaps Dalan was his equal, in certain arenas, but these two were too weakened by interdependence and compassion. To remain here with them would only hasten his demise.

At least this was what Shaimin told himself. He saw a crack in the rear wall, too thick for his human allies but perhaps just enough for an elf. He wriggled through the cracks and crawled away through the forest’s thick, leafy carpet. The Cyran soldiers were too occupied at the entrance of the chapel to notice his escape. The undead were too maddened by Marth’s brutal magical assault to notice much of anything. The assassin peered back once he had crawled a safe distance. He watched as Marth struck down the last of his undead attackers with a lash of fire from his wand. The Cyran soldiers flanked out immediately, surrounding the ruined chapel.

Shaimin could see no way out for the others. The chapel stood within a small break in the forest. Marth’s soldiers now flanked it. Several, including the changeling himself, were on horseback. Even if Zed and Eraina were to split up and run for it, Marth would easily capture them.

“Thuranni!” Marth called out. “Those men you murdered were my countrymen! By aiding my enemies you forsook my trust, but in slaying my brothers you have earned your House a place beside all those who will tremble before the power of the Legacy. If you have any honor left, surrender yourself, and House Thuranni will be spared my vengeance.”

Marth was truly mad, Shaimin reflected, if he believed himself a match for House Thuranni. Or was the Legacy truly so powerful that it could challenge even the dragonmarked houses?

“Your elf assassin isn’t here, Marth!” Zed Arthen called out with a bitter laugh. “He betrayed us just like he betrayed you!”

“Your lies will accomplish nothing, Zed Arthen,” the changeling said. He smiled bitterly. “For I make you no such offer of mercy. Know, as you die, how truly foolish you have been. Had you remained closer to the road, those badges you stole would have actually offered you some protection. Fleeing into the woods only assured your demise.”

Marth leveled his weapon at the chapel. A burst of boiling green energy surged into the ancient ruin, scattering stone and timber in a furious sphere of destruction. Within seconds, the entire structure had been reduced to seared rubble. There was no way Zed Arthen and Eraina d’Deneith could have survived such a conflagration.

Well, at the very least Shaimin wouldn’t have to worry about them being angry about abandoning them. Though he had technically upheld his oath, only fleeing them when they proved unable to protect his own interests, it was nice when problems solved themselves. It even seemed as if Marth truly believed Shaimin had perished in the chapel, for the changeling departed as well, leaving only his soldiers to pick through the rubble.

With a quiet sigh of relief, Shaimin d’Thuranni crawled off through the leaves as quickly as he dared. He made his way back toward the road and the safety of Nathyrr.

F
IFTEEN

C
aptain Draikus and his men did not lead them back to the prison, as Seren expected. Instead he escorted them into the inn itself, to a large room on the second floor. He left one of his three knights in the hall to keep watch, then locked the door behind them. The other two knights took up positions on each side of the door.

“Please, have a seat,” Draikus said, gesturing to the shabby couch and rickety chairs that furnished the room. The tall knight remained standing, slowly pacing the room. Seren sat on a chair in the corner, giving her a good view of all her captors.

“This is most unorthodox,” Dalan said, sitting back on the couch. He removed his small cap and set it on one knee. Tristam sat beside Dalan. Ijaac remained standing, arms folded across his barrel chest.

“How did you arrive in Nathyrr?” Draikus asked, ignoring the question. “You have no steeds. The watchmen at the city gates reported an anonymous d’Cannith, which can only be you, arriving on foot with three others. Surely you didn’t walk all the way from Wroat.”

“I will not answer your questions until I know on what charges we have been arrested,” Dalan said.

“You are not under arrest, Master d’Cannith,” Draikus said. “I
am well aware that, if you were, diplomatic entanglements would likely place you well out of my jurisdiction and force me to release you. Fortunately, that is not the case.”

“Then why are we here?” Dalan snapped.

“For your own protection. These questions only serve so that I might protect you more adequately. The innkeeper said that you seek Marshal Eraina d’Deneith?”

Dalan nodded.

“The Marshal is a known associate of the former knight Zed Arthen, who is wanted for questioning in connection with several recent murders,” Draikus said. “You know Arthen well, as I recall. While I am certain that a son of House Cannith would never knowingly accomplice himself to a criminal, I cannot allow such a high profile visitor to our city to endanger himself. You and your employees will remain in my custody until I am certain you are safe.”

Draikus offered a smug smile. Seren noticed that Draikus carried himself with almost the same swagger as Zed Arthen and spoke with the same inflections. The two might have passed as brothers under other circumstances.

“This is ridiculous,” Dalan said. “You know Arthen. Regardless of what passed between you two, you know that Arthen is no murderer.”

“Circumstances strongly suggest otherwise,” Draikus said, “but if you believe differently, help me find him. Allow him to state his case. If he is innocent, the Flame will protect him.”

Dalan sighed. “I don’t know where he is. I was looking for him when you arrested me.”

“What was Arthen doing in Nathyrr?” Draikus asked. “Did you send him here?”

“I’m not sure if I should tell you,” Dalan said.

“You would interfere with justice?” Draikus growled, leaning
close. “You may be able to slip through my fingers, d’Cannith, but I can retain these others as long as I like. The girl and the dwarf aren’t even carrying traveling papers. I could arrest them as spies. With the assortment of magical powders and reagents we found on the boy, I’m sure we can find something suspicious enough to detain him.”

“And this is why I won’t help you,” Dalan said, his voice calm and even. “Because you are still so filled with hatred for Zed Arthen that it blinds you to your true duty. If you are the example to which the knighthood aspires, it is no wonder Arthen lost his faith.”

“How dare you insult me, d’Cannith!” Draikus snapped. He leaned over the guildmaster, one gloved hand balled into a fist.

“Do not try to intimidate me, Captain,” Dalan said, “and don’t try to threaten my friends. If you are prepared to approach me as an officer of the law instead of a thug, then perhaps we shall have something to discuss.”

Draikus leaned back, scowling deeply. His lips were pursed into a thin line, as if he were struggling to hold back an angry reply. It was obvious to Seren that Dalan and Draikus knew and hated each other from somewhere, and it was preventing them from saying anything useful to each other.

“What did Zed do?” she asked, attempting to throw the conversation back on course.

“What?” Draikus snapped, looking at her sharply. “Who was speaking to you?”

“What do you believe Zed Arthen did?” she pressed, ignoring his retort. “Obviously it must be important if the captain of the city watch is willing to stake out his room personally.”

Draikus looked at her for a long moment. “Does the name Niam Kenrickson mean anything to you?” he said, watching each of them for their reaction.

“No,” Dalan said. “None of us have even been to Nathyrr before today.”

“Zed Arthen was arrested after a drunken public disturbance yesterday afternoon,” Draikus said. “His fines were paid by a local undertaker, Niam Kenrickson. This morning we discovered Kenrickson, his brother, and six other men in the mortuary, dead from sword and knife wounds.”

“Won’t have to carry the bodies far, I guess,” Ijaac said.

Draikus leveled a glare at the dwarf. Ijaac laughed nervously and fell silent. The captain returned his attention to Dalan.

“There’s more,” Dalan said. “Isn’t there?”

Draikus’s eyes narrowed.

“It isn’t just the bodies, or Zed’s involvement,” Dalan said. “As much as you hate Arthen, you wouldn’t have bothered to stake out his rooms personally unless you had found something much more disturbing. What did you find, Draikus?”

“I am asking the questions here,” the captain said.

“And I am not under arrest,” Dalan said, rising from the couch. “If you do not answer me, I will leave.”

“Then your friends are under arrest,” Draikus said.

“Then I will report your actions to my House and you may deal with the repercussions.” Dalan brushed past Captain Draikus and strolled to the door of the room. “Move,” he said to the guards, “or I promise you will share in his disgrace.” They looked at their captain frantically.

“Fine,” Draikus said, his voice nearly a growl. “Sit down, d’Cannith.”

Dalan returned to the couch, looking up at Draikus intently.

The knight paced the room a bit more rapidly, his arms folded behind his back. “For some time my guards have reported strange activities in the forests,” Draikus said. “There’s been a lot of movement in and out of the woods, along with rare
sightings of a large, unmarked airship. I always felt it merited further investigation, but there are certain dangers in the deep Harrowcrowns.”

“Dangers?” Seren asked.

“Portions of these woods have a dark history,” Draikus said. “Some places are still haunted by that history. There are areas still infested with undead, and they have long been sealed off. A full exorcism would have required more manpower than I have available. Thrane’s military is already spread thinly defending our borders. The chances of receiving reinforcements to deal with what amounts to a hunch are almost nothing. That hunch became a great deal more tangible when we searched the Kenrickson mortuary. We found coffins filled with rations, weapons, and medical supplies. It was as if they were supplying a small army.” Draikus’s brash demeanor had faded, if only slightly. He looked tired and worried.

“So it isn’t really Zed that you’re after,” Dalan said.

“Don’t you understand, d’Cannith?” Draikus snapped angrily. “If there’s some sort of conspiracy to weaken Thrane’s borders, Arthen knew about it. Now he’s missing.”

Dalan stared coolly at Draikus for a long moment before speaking. “For the last several months, I have been aiding Marshal Eraina Deneith in the pursuit of a dangerous changeling criminal named Marth,” he said. “This Marth, due to a specific interpretation of the Draconic Prophecy, believes he is destined to destroy the Five Nations. We believe he has reconstructed an experimental magical weapon of vast power and intends to use it in a mission of revenge for the deaths of his wife and children. He has amassed a small army of former Cyran soldiers and secretly constructed a base here in the Harrowcrowns. Zed and Eraina came here to search for that base while we pursued Marth. When the changeling finally
eluded us, we returned here to rendezvous with them.” Dalan folded his hands across his lap.

Draikus looked at Dalan silently. “Ridiculous,” the knight said at last. “I knew there was only a slim chance of prying any useful information from you, d’Cannith, but I did not expect to be mocked with such lunacy. Be gone from my sight.” He gestured at the guards, who moved aside and opened the door.