“What is your purpose?” Tristam pressed. “You say you exist to fulfill Ashrem’s will, but you didn’t say what that will was.”
“To protect Dying Sun until the heir of Ash arrives,” the figment said. “I was waiting for you, Tristam.”
“Me?” Tristam said, shocked. “But Ashrem cast me out. Why would he want me to have his ship?”
“I cannot say,” the vision said. “I know only that he thought of you often. As the mists swallowed Cyre, he thought of you. The last thing I remember before I became what I am is the certainty that you would put things right.”
Tristam looked at the corner of the rail station. The illusions flickered again, revealing the shadowed mass of Dying Sun. The ship was constructed much differently from the Mourning Dawn. Only two struts supported the elemental ring, projecting from the sides. This granted the ship greater durability but less maneuverability. It also meant that the ship had survived all of these years sitting on its hull without snapping her struts. If the elemental was still bound to the ship’s core, Dying Sun might well fly again. Possibilities formed in Tristam’s head. He knew how durable Ashrem’s airships were, how a skilled artificer could restore them from even the most grievous damage. What if he could repair the Sun? Tristam could have a ship of his own, a vessel that could fly free of Dalan’s manipulations and machinations.
“Tristam?” Seren asked. She looked at him, worried. “Tristam, say something.”
“I’m sorry, Ashrem,” Tristam said, shaking his head to clear it. “I didn’t come to claim Dying Sun. I came to destroy her so that the Legacy will never be completed.”
Ashrem frowned. “Stopping Zamiel’s plans is not so easy, Tristam,” the figment said. “If destroying Dying Sun would avert the prophecy, Ashrem would have done so himself. The Sun was profoundly changed when Ashrem mingled her energies with the Dragon’s Eye. You should not destroy her. She can help you find the truth.”
“How?” Tristam demanded. “What are you talking about?”
“The elemental that sleeps within the ship,” Ashrem’s vision said. “It speaks to me, Tristam. There are other sources of power, like the Dragon’s Eye. It can sense them. It can lead you to them. If you truly wish to end the threat the Legacy represents, then they, too, must be extinguished.”
The illusory station flickered and vanished again, leaving them in darkness. Tristam scowled at the phantom in silent frustration.
“What do we do, Tristam?” Gerith asked in a quiet voice. “Are we still destroying the ship?”
“No,” Tristam said. “Take Blizzard and go back to the Karia Naille. Tell Pherris to keep a safe altitude and wait there. And bring me my tools.”
TWENTY-SIX
The Vathirond dock officials were taking their time, checking each traveler’s documentation one by one. Eraina and Zed had been waiting patiently in the line to board the ferry for nearly an hour. Ahead of them in line, a fat man struggled vainly to keep his two bored little boys from fighting over a bag of candy. Behind them, a happy woman clutched what appeared to be a wicker cage containing a live chicken. Zed had spent his idle time studying each of the other passengers. Without speaking a word to any of them he knew where each of them had come from and where each was headed. He was bored and mildly disappointed that nothing would surprise him on this trip.
“Something is bothering you,” Eraina said, interrupting his daydreaming.
Zed looked at Eraina, trying to keep his face as blank as he could. “Why do you say that?” he said, glancing back at the front of the line.
“You haven’t complained the entire time we’ve been here,” she said. “Not even about this interminable wait. That’s peculiar for you. What’s more, you haven’t contaminated the air with that foul pipeweed since we landed.”
“Black Pit Blend isn’t foul,” he countered. “It’s downright terrible. It’s the worst tobacco in all of Khorvaire.”
“Then why do you smoke it?” she asked.
Zed shrugged, shifting his shoulders in his baggy cloak. “I’m trying to quit smoking,” he said. “I figured if I made the experience as unpleasant as possible, it’d be easier to stop. Hasn’t worked out so far.”
“Amusing,” Eraina said with a faint grin. “Your attempt to change the subject has been noted, Arthen.”
“I’m not trying to change the subject,” Zed replied. “You asked me why I smoke.” He looked around carefully, trying not to meet her eyes.
“You know I can tell when you lie,” she said. “You should just try not answering the question. It works much better for you.”
“Looks like we’re up,” Zed said as the guards waved them forward.
Eraina sighed in irritation and stepped forward.
“State your name and business,” a bored guard asked.
“Sentinel Marshal Eraina d’Deneith,” she said, displaying her badge and papers. “I am traveling to Nathyrr on official business on behalf of my house.”
The guard glanced at her papers for a moment, then waved her through, gesturing to Zed. “State your name and business,” he said.
Zed handed the man a crumpled sheaf of papers. The guard looked at the documents curiously and handed them back.
“What’s the reason for this trip, Master Arthen?” the guard asked.
“Don’t give me any trouble, boy,” Zed growled. “I just need to go home.”
The guard frowned and looked at his older partner. The other guard’s expression shifted from bored to irritated.
“It’s no trouble, Master Arthen,” the other guard said. “If you don’t want to answer our questions, you can wait until you’re feeling more agreeable and get back in line. Next.”
“Just a damned second,” Arthen said. “I’m not getting in the back of that line again.”
The younger guard’s hand moved to his sword. Zed gave the boy an appraising look and smiled dangerously.
“This man is my deputy,” Eraina said, glaring at Zed as she stepped back through the guard post. “Forgive the idiot glee he takes in making others’ lives difficult. He is from Thrane. They breed their asses stubborn there.”
The guards nodded in understanding and waved Zed through.
Zed blinked in amazement. “Did you just say what I thought you said?” he asked as he followed her onto the ferry.
“I called you nothing less than you deserved,” she said, descending the stairs to the boat’s passenger cabins. “Those guards were only doing their job, and we have no reason to call attention to ourselves.”
“Oh, no, I’m not arguing with that,” he said. He glanced in one of the cabins and, finding it empty, stepped inside and sat down. She sat down across from him. “I’m just a little amazed that you lied.”
“Lied?” Eraina asked, sounding a bit offended. “I do not lie.”
“You told those men that I was your deputy,” he said.
“It is within the power of a Sentinel Marshal, in time of crisis, to deputize worthy men-at-arms to aid her, both in the investigation of a crime and in the arrest of a dangerous suspect,” she said. “As you are already aiding me in just such a task, you may consider yourself deputized, Arthen.”
Zed scratched his chin and stared out the window at the water, his expression bemused.
“Are you formulating another lecture warning me of the dangers of splitting hairs, or other such nonsense?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “I was going to compliment your flexibility. I find it refreshing. You’re an intriguing woman, Eraina.”
Eraina lifted one eyebrow and laughed. “Are you flirting with me, Arthen?” she asked.
“No,” he said.