Tristam peered through his cabin’s porthole, trying to get an idea of the time. The sky was tinged with yellow haze. Sunrise. He had slept through the entire day yesterday. He felt weak and a little numb from spending so much time in bed. He swung his legs over the side of his bunk and rubbed his eyes.
His homunculus sat amid the beakers, journals, and assorted equipment atop the desk. The lumpy little clay man watched Tristam with empty black eyes, waiting for any command. It pushed a tiny foot forward, nudging the edge of a plate heaped with a thick slab of bread, wedge of cheese, and two apples. Seren must have brought it while he was sleeping.
“Are you standing guard over my breakfast?” Tristam asked.
The homunculus cocked its head and stared at him. It picked up the chunk of cheese and held it out between tiny hands. Tristam laughed and accepted the food. He picked up a satchel of tools and reagents, slung it over one shoulder, and made his way into the corridor as he chewed.
The ship’s interior was quiet. The hatch to Seren’s cabin was closed, as was Pherris and Ijaac’s. The cargo hold, though laden with supplies, seemed oddly empty without Omax’s presence. Tristam climbed up onto the deck, cool morning breeze mussing his long hair.
“Aeven?” he whispered.
Instantly, she was there. The dryad appeared perched on the gunwale beside the figurehead that was her perfect likeness. She watched Tristam silently with wide, green eyes. She hugged her slim legs against her chest, pointed chin perched upon her clasped fingers.
“Aeven, I need you to talk to Karia Naille for me,” he said.
“Why?” she asked coolly.
“I have an important question,” he said. “I can find the answer with my magic, but it would be … more polite”-he smiled-“to simply ask the elemental directly. Do you think she would do that?”
“Unlikely,” Dalan grumbled, stepping out of his cabin. He rubbed one eye and looked from the artificer to the dryad. “Elementals aren’t a part of this world. They don’t like being bound. They hate mortals and don’t want to help us voluntarily.”
“Usually that’s the case,” Tristam said, “but it’s entirely a matter of communication. Mortals and elementals have difficulty understanding each other. Karia Naille is different, isn’t she, Aeven?”
“Yes,” Aeven said. “I have helped her to understand this world, and her place in it, to a degree far greater than most elementals. She feels she has gained more than she has lost by being bound to this ship. She wishes to aid us.”
“Interesting,” Dalan said, settling himself on a barrel to watch.
“Ask your question,” the dryad said.
“Marth accidentally revealed something to me in Metrol, but I wanted to make sure it was true,” Tristam said. “Ashrem d’Cannith made a lot of modifications to his ships after the gnomes built them, but there’s one in particular I’m interested in-one that no one would know about except the ship herself. Did Ashrem infuse Karia Naille with the power of the Dragon’s Eye?”
Aeven closed her eyes and lowered her head, fine blond hair spilling over her face as she communed with the airship’s elemental. The ring of burning blue flame that surrounded the vessel pulsed a warm, brilliant white.
“He did,” Aeven said.
“What?” Dalan said, astonished. “Impossible. Ashrem never took this ship to Zul’nadn.”
“The power flowed from Zul’nadn to the Dying Sun,” Aeven said, “and from the Dying Sun to her sisters, never diminishing, just as water taken from a stream cannot diminish it. It is a primal flame, born of another plane of existence. As such only a similar power-such as the elementals-can anchor it in our realm. The power of the Dragon’s Eye burns within Karia Naille.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this earlier, Aeven?” Dalan asked.
The dryad glared at him. “I did not know,” she said. “Even to me, Karia Naille can be cryptic and distant. She wishes to help but does not always comprehend what is of importance-just as you rarely comprehend what is of importance to her.”
“That’s why the other airships fell out of the sky in Stormhome but we didn’t,” Tristam concluded. “It wasn’t luck. She’s fueled by the same otherworldly power as the Legacy.”
“So the entire time we’ve been hunting the Legacy, we’ve been riding inside it,” Dalan said, astonished.
“Yes and no,” Tristam said. “I think Ashrem did all he could to make certain the Legacy wouldn’t be used again, scattering and destroying the components, but he couldn’t bring himself to destroy the airships he loved. Zul’nadn’s fire is the power source, and that will always be a part of the ship’s elemental core, but the Legacy is more than that. Still, this is important. I’ll need to see if I can work on a way to extend the ship’s immunity so that Omax and Aeven won’t be as badly affected by the Legacy if we encounter it again.”
“Karia Naille is worried for the warforged,” Aeven said.
“Oh?” Tristam said, looking at the dryad in surprise.
“He is woven from elemental forces, bound together by magic, just as she is,” Aeven said. “She feels his pain. She fears she did not fly him here swiftly enough and that he may pass from this world. She does not understand death, but she is sorry that Omax may soon experience it.” The elemental ring burned a dark, somber blue.
Tristam looked past Aeven at the shimmering fire. He saw images within the bound energy, reflections of his vision at Zul’nadn. He witnessed an ancient giant struggling to hold creation together through sheer force of will. He saw the Dragon’s Eye form as a reflection of the ancient being’s desire to preserve Eberron.
“That brings me to my next question,” Tristam said. “A favor, actually, if Karia Naille is willing.”
“For all the times you have saved her, Tristam, she is pleased to help you,” Aeven said.
“Good,” Tristam said. “I’ll be right back.” He dropped into the cargo hold.
Dalan hurried down the stairs after him. “What is this about, Tristam?” he asked. “What are you up to?”
“Fixing my mistakes,” Tristam said, seizing one end of Omax’s stretcher. “Or maybe making another. Either way, this should be interesting to you. Help me with this.”
Dalan quickly moved to the winch, turning the handle to lower the stretcher as Tristam pushed it out through the cargo bay doors with a clatter.
Gerith Snowshale peered down into the hold from the deck above, blinking sleepy eyes. “What’s going on down there?” he asked.
“Wake Captain Gerriman,” Tristam said. “Tell him to set a course for Korth. And wake Ijaac, too. I’m going to need his help.”
“Korth?” the halfling said, confused. “Dalan?” He looked at the other man.
“Do it,” the guildmaster commanded.
Gerith nodded and vanished. His frantic shouting could be heard deep in the ship moments later. Tristam lowered the boarding ladder and climbed down through the tower, Dalan following. Mist clung to the lush plains. Most of Gatherhold still slept. A few halfling hunters were setting out on clawfeet. One yawned sleepily and waved as he rode out.
Mother Shinh sat just outside the entrance of the healer’s tent, head bowed as she sipped from a skin of water. She looked up as Tristam and Dalan approached. Dark rings hung beneath her eyes. She smiled weakly. The halfling healer was extremely tiny, with wrinkled skin and fine gray hair. Halflings, even elderly ones, usually had a youthful appearance-suggesting that the healer must be ancient indeed.