“Didn’t see one,” the shifter said. “Just mooring lines.”
“Nothing around here to tie off to, though,” Kandler said, thinking out loud. “It’s just as well, I suppose. We’re not all going.”
Sallah snorted. “I should have known. Very well. I will go alone.”
“I’m in,” said Burch. “You’ll need a tracker.”
“I think I can follow the smoke,” Sallah said.
“You need to get back, too.”
The lady knight nodded at the shifter as a soft smirk played across her lips.
“Very well,” she said, gathering up her fellow knights’ swords. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll come!”
All three of the adults turned in shock. Esprл looked up at them bravely, her eyes still red from weeping. “You need all the help you can get, right?”
Kandler leaned over and put his hand on Esprл’s neck. “That’s very brave, but no.”
“But, Kandler-”
“Forget it. You’re not coming. Besides”-the justicar smiled-“we need someone to stay back here and fly to our rescue.”
“I knew you’d come, boss.” Burch grinned.
“You’re going to leave a child alone in the Mournland?” asked Sallah. She slung the other knights’ swords across her back.
“It’s safer than coming with us,” Kandler pointed out. “Besides, she’s the only one who can fly the ship.”
“I haven’t tried it yet.”
“But you’re going with us.”
Sallah grimaced. “You should stay here with your child.” Kandler looked down at Esprл. He wanted to stay with her-he’d risked so much to make sure she was safe-but he couldn’t leave the knights to die.
“Where’s the honor in that?” Kandler said with as much bravado as he could muster. He turned to Esprл and put his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Haul the ladder up after us, and don’t let it down until you hear me call your mother’s name.”
The girl nodded.
“Your place is here with the girl,” Sallah said. She stepped between Kandler and the ladder.
Kandler looked down into Sallah’s eyes. “If those war-forged took down three knights, then you need my blade.”
Sallah glared at Kandler for a moment, then turned and lowered herself down the ladder. “We don’t have time to waste,” she said as she disappeared behind the railing.
Burch followed right after the knight, stopping to give Esprл a quick kiss on the top of her head before he left.
“I’ll be fine,” Esprл said as Kandler turned to her.
“I know you will.”
“Just come back alive, all right?”
Kandler kissed the girl on the forehead. “We’ll be right back,” he said as he started down the ladder.
When the justicar reached the ground, he gave the ladder a sharp tug. Far above, Esprл pulled the ladder up.
“Not until I hear mom’s name!” she called as the others padded off toward the smoke.
The trio kept to the hollows as much as possible, creeping along the crests of the hills only when necessary. Soon they made it to the final crest. Burch lay on his belly and peeked over the top then beckoned the others to follow.
A dozen or more tents stood scattered about the bottom of the hollow, all loosely gathered around a central campfire from which a large plume of smoke curled up to disappear into the darkening Mournland sky. Other than a few lanterns glowing in a tent here and there, it was the only source of light in the entire camp. Warforged lumbered about the place on their business, ducking in and out of tents as they went.
“They seem riled up,” Kandler whispered.
“I don’t see Sir Deothen or the others,” said Sallah.
“There,” said Burch, pointing to the largest of the tents. Its front flap faced the trio and opened onto the circle around the fire.
“How do you know?” asked the knight.
“Trail goes there,” the shifter said. “Plus, it’s the busiest.”
Sallah stared at Burch in disbelief. “You can follow the trail through all that traffic by watching from here.”
Burch grinned. “I saw a knight when the flap opened.”
The knight slapped the shifter affectionately on the back. “I’ll never underestimate you again,” she said. She turned her attention back to the camp. “I don’t suppose you know the best way to get in there?”
“We don’t have to,” said Kandler.
“And why not?” The lady knight glared at the justicar.
Kandler pointed down at the tent. “They’re bringing them out.”
The front of the flap opened wide, and a warforged emerged. The three knights followed him, each with his own warforged escort. The knights’ hands were bound, and their legs were hobbled with rope. Their faces were cut and bruised. One of Brendis’ eyes was swollen shut, and Levritt walked with a limp. Another warforged wearing a white tabard followed them out.
The warforged who had led the procession from the tent cupped his metal-plated hands around his lipless mouth and called out to everyone in the camp. “Gather round! The breathers refused to talk. They are no longer useful, so it’s time to shut them down!”
“Shut them down?” said Sallah. “What does that mean?” Kandler answered. “They’re going to execute them.”
Chapter 37
The warforged gathered in the center of the camp as the three guards brought their charges out and forced them to kneel in front of the fire. Deothen resisted, but two of the warforged stepped forth and kicked him in the back of his legs. The elder knight fell on his face but did not cry out. The two warforged who had kicked him hauled him back up on his knees and held him there.
The last warforged who had followed the knights out of the tent did not take part in the abuse. He wore a white tabard over his metal carapace. The cloth was stained and grimy with dark, three-fingered handprints. “Superior,” he said to the one who had called all the others around, “is this truly necessary?”
The warforged leader laughed. The sounds echoed in his metal-lined chest and cheeks. “Breathers aren’t welcome in the Mournland, Xalt. That’s what Bastard says, and he gets it straight from the Lord of Blades.”
“These men can harm us no longer,” Xalt said. “We have pulled their fangs.”
Superior slapped Xalt on the back. The blow landed with a metallic ring. “The Mournland belongs to us now,” he said.
“These breathers invaded our territory. We must teach them a lesson.”
“What lesson is good to the dead?”
Superior shook his head. “You always twist my words, greaser. The lesson is for the other breathers. We need to send them a message, one that says, ‘Keep out!’ in letters drawn in their stinking blood.”
“Who would get that message here?” Xalt asked. “It would be better to shove them into the mists bordering our land. If they make it through, then they can tell the tale of their terror to their kind.”
“That’s just it,” Superior said, slamming a fist into its hand. “Breathers don’t listen. The only thing they understand is death. Why do you think they made us?”
“We weren’t all made to be soldiers, Superior,” said Xalt. He gestured at his own soiled tabard.
“Artificers made to fix soldiers are still soldiers, greaser. Now close your mouth and let me get on with this.”
Xalt shrugged and stepped to one side. Deothen cursed. Pinning his hopes on the artificer had been a long shot, but it had seemed like his only choice. He looked to Levritt on his left and Brendis on his right. Their eyes were filled with mortal terror.
“Have faith, my sons,” Deothen told the other knights. “The Silver Flame will keep us, in life or death.”
“Death, I think.” Superior chortled as he stood before the three knights.
“My fellow createds,” the warforged leader said, turning and spreading his arms wide to encompass the entire camp, “while we work to establish a homeland for ourselves, we are constantly assailed on all fronts by these foul, stinking breathers. Their repellent hunger for land, for food, for air-for things to consume-places them always in opposition to us. We know their nature. They made us in their image. They built us to fight in their war. And now they must pay the price.” Superior stopped for a moment to look down at the kneeling knights. As he did, he drew his sword. “Your deaths will send a message to your kind. The Mournland is no place for breathers.”