Tarrel looked back toward the chasm, and Mordan chuckled as the three resumed their journey.
Chapter 15
The Journey Resumes
Stopping in her tracks, Brey cursed under her breath. Her two companions stopped and looked questioningly at her through the dense gray mist.
“Sunlight,” she said. “I can feel it. We must be near the edge.” She backed away a few paces into the mist.
“You two wait here,” said Mordan, and loped off into the mist without waiting for a reply. He returned a few minutes later, with a smile.
“The river’s only a few hundred yards,” he said, “and it looks like we’re only a few miles from where we left the boat.”
“You’re sure?” asked Brey.
Mordan nodded. “Positive,” he said. “I’ve been up and down this river a lot in the last few months.”
“How long till sundown?” Brey asked.
“About four, five hours,” he replied.
Brey thought for a moment. “You two go ahead,” she said. “I can’t go out there till dark, and I’ll need to hunt as soon as the sun goes down. I’ll catch up with you tonight.”
“I’ll wait with you,” offered Tarrel.
Brey shook her head.
“I spent a lot of time looking for you,” he said. “How do I know you won’t just disappear on me?”
Brey grinned. “You don’t,” she said. “But here’s something you should know: I haven’t fed in a long time.”
Tarrel’s eyes widened a fraction, and he got up to leave. “Since you put it that way,” he said. He slung his sack over his shoulder, and set off into the mist with Mordan.
“So have you decided what to tell her father yet?” Mordan asked, after the two had walked a little way in silence.
Tarrel shook his head. “Maybe she’s right—it would have been better if I’d never found her,” he said. “I can see why she doesn’t want to go back to Thrane—the Church of the Silver Flame isn’t as forgiving about undead as you Karrns are, even ones who were originally paladins. It’ll be hard on her family if she goes home, and hard if she doesn’t.”
“They wouldn’t be the first parents to be cruelly disappointed in their offspring,” said Mordan. Tarrel looked at him, expecting a cynical smile, but the Karrn’s face was set. He stared at the ground in front of him as he walked.
“It’s not like it was her fault, you know,” Tarrel replied.
Mordan kept his eyes on the ground. “I’ve never known that to make a difference,” he said.
Then they came to the edge of the mist.
Tarrel blinked. Even though it had been getting lighter as they approached the edge of the dead-gray mist, he was still unprepared for the sudden sunlight. They stopped at the river-bank and looked across at Karrnath.
“We left Decker a few miles back that way,” said Mordan, pointing to his left.
“Do you think he’ll still be there?” asked Tarrel. “He didn’t seem like your greatest fan, and he wasn’t happy about having a vampire on his boat. Would he take the money and run?”
Mordan shook his head with a slight smile. “No,” he said. “He’ll be right there, working on that mechanical engine of his.”
“How can you be so sure?” asked Tarrel.
“Because I know him,” Mordan replied, “and because I haven’t paid him yet.”
They found the boat a few miles downstream, moored under an overhanging tree. Fang was pacing the deck but seemed not to see them. It was more than an hour before they caught sight of Decker, and another ten minutes of shouting before he noticed them. He waved them to wait, and after a few minutes, the boat crossed the river toward them.
Once aboard, they told Decker what they had seen in the Mournland, and he proudly showed them the engine. It looked a little more complicated, but neither of them could have said what was new—or even what most of the wheels, shafts, and pistons were supposed to do. When Decker got the boat underway, though, they both noticed an appreciable increase in speed. The boat traveled about as fast as a trotting horse.
Tarrel went below and changed his clothes. Dusk was beginning to fall when he came back up with a couple of healing potions. He found Mordan sitting moodily at the stern, staring at nothing in particular. Mordan accepted the potions with a nod of thanks, but although his color improved, his mood did not.
Tarrel sat down beside him. “Want to talk about it?” he asked.
Mordan looked sideways at him. “About what?”
“About whatever it was that wasn’t your fault.”
“No.”
They sat in silence for a minute or two.
“You know,” said Tarrel, “I don’t know why you’re so hard on her. She saved your life back there.”
Mordan looked up sourly. “I’ll have to buy her some flowers.”
“What is wrong with you?” Tarrel said. “You’d be meat on the back of that metal thing right now, if she hadn’t arm-wrestled it for you!”
Mordan looked at him with a tired expression. “I’d be at Fort Zombie right now if she hadn’t dragged us in there! And what did we find? Nothing.”
“Nothing?” echoed Tarrel, looking at his sack. Although it still only looked half-full, it contained almost enough to fill a cart.
“And then she smashes that damned altar and brings the place down on our heads! And for what? Religion? What good is her religion to her now? She can’t even say its name!”
“And whose fault is that?” said the Brelander. “Or have you forgotten how she got that way? You’re lucky she hasn’t killed you just for being a Karrn.”
“I’m sure she’ll try,” Mordan shot back, “just as soon as I stop being useful.”
Tarrel stared at him.
“Look,” said Mordan, with quiet intensity, “She’s not the only person bad things ever happened to in a hundred years of war. There are no losers, no winners—just survivors. And she’s just another survivor.”
“She’s entitled to some justice.”
“Justice?” Mordan’s laugh was hollow. “Everyone is entitled to justice—but how many are going to get it?”
“She will,” vowed the half-elf, “if I have anything to say about it.”
“Oh, of course!” spat Mordan. “Because her father’s a general and can afford to hire a fancy Medani inquisitive!”
“No,” replied Tarrel, his voice dangerously quiet, “because what happened to her shouldn’t have happened to anyone. Because someone chose to do this to her—and because …”
“Because you’re getting paid,” said Mordan. “Admit it!”
Tarrel clenched his fists for a long moment, then forced himself to relax them. “Whatever you say, hero boy,” he grated. “You can sit here and contemplate the unfairness of life as long as you like. I’m going to get some sleep.” He got up, and went below deck.
Mordan leaned his head back, looking at the stars as they appeared. After a few minutes, Decker stuck his head out of the cabin.
“What was all that about?” he asked.
Mordan let go a long, hissing breath. “Human stuff,” he said. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Hard to understand, too,” muttered the warforged.
“Hey. Decker?”
“What?”
“Do me a favor. He’s got a wand—fires some kind of light. I think it ran out of power. Once he’s asleep, could you take a look at it?”
“Sure,” said Decker. “And maybe you should get some sleep, too—I’ve noticed you fleshies get unpredictable when you need it.”
When Mordan awoke, the boat was no longer moving. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and looked out to find they were moored at a jetty on the edge of Flumakton. Cursing, he went up on deck. Fang was pacing along the landward side as usual, and Decker was sitting on the roof of the cabin, looking intently at the iron defender.