“You would kill me?” the elf said, holding out his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I am the only person left who can help you find the Seventh Moon in a timely manner.”
“Kenshi Zhann crashed on the Talenta Plains,” Tristam said, though he hesitated. Seren quietly picked her dagger up off the street. She glanced around for Shaimin’s weapons but couldn’t find them. When had the elf had time to retrieve them?
“Her condition has much improved,” Marth said. “Captain Marth is preparing her for a final assault as we speak.”
“An assault on whom?” Tristam demanded.
“I want your promise of a truce, Master Xain,” Shaimin said. “I have a stake in this battle as well. I wish to aid you.”
“Aid us?” Seren said. “You were hired to kill us.”
Shaimin sighed. “No,” he said, annoyed. “First of all I was never hired. I was called upon to repay a favor. Second, you were never my objective, Seren. You were never anything but a frustratingly tenacious obstacle. It was suggested that I repay my debt by killing Tristam, but I have since reconsidered.”
“Why?” Tristam asked.
“Because the man to whom I owe that favor is now insane,” Shaimin said. “And, as he intends to destroy the entire political structure of the Five Nations, which indirectly includes House Thuranni, I find his employ a distinct conflict of interests. Further, I have determined the only way to repay the debt I owe to Marth. That is to defeat the monster that he has become.”
Tristam’s wand did not move. “I don’t intend to stop one monster by allying with another.”
“You are unmoved,” Shaimin said. “Let me speak, then, of details. Not far from this city, Marth has constructed a fortress atop an ancient cavern, apparently the home to a passage of the Draconic Prophecy-though I confess I did not see such a cave myself. He has named this stronghold Fort Ash, a dubious honor for your mutual master. There he completes repairs on the Seventh Moon in preparation for his mad campaign against the Five Nations. I can lead you directly to him.”
Tristam held the wand steady, pointed at the elf’s chest.
“You would be foolish to refuse me,” Shaimin said. “You have little time to decide. Would you let your friends die for nothing?”
“My friends?” Tristam asked.
“I helped Zed Arthen and Eraina d’Deneith discover Marth’s fortress,” Shaimin said. “They perished as we were fleeing from his soldiers. I had returned to search their quarters for any information that might help me find Dalan, but the Knights of the Silver Flame were already there. I thought that the rest of you might appear if I kept watch on the place. I must confess. I am pleasantly surprised at how swiftly my patience was rewarded.”
“You say Zed and Eraina are dead,” Seren said. “Why should we believe you?”
“If I were in any way responsible for their deaths, why would I even tell you that I met them?” Shaimin asked, laughing. “If you are so fragile that you cannot set aside our past and work with beside me for the greater good, then I do not need your aid. Say hello to Dalan for me.”
Shaimin turned his back to Tristam and walked away down the road.
Tristam looked at Seren, still pointing his wand at the retreating elf. “Seren, what do we do?” he asked.
She glanced from Tristam to Shaimin. The elf was dangerous; that much was obvious from their previous encounters. Yet he had a point-if he had wished to kill them he could easily have done so. Dalan seemed to offer Shaimin a strange kind of trust, as much as he trusted anyone. If he really knew what happened to Zed and Eraina, they couldn’t afford to let him leave. He had proved before how easily and completely he could vanish when given the chance.
“Wait,” Seren called out.
Shaimin looked back over one shoulder. He lifted one blond eyebrow expectantly. “Yes?” he asked.
“We need your help,” she said. The words left a sour taste in her mouth.
“And I need yours,” he said, turning and striding swiftly back toward them. “There. Was that really so difficult?”
SIXTEEN
All that Zed could see was flame.
All around him, fire consumed the once proud temples of Vathirond. The bodies of the dead and dying lay strewn about the square. Most of the knights had moved on, pushing toward the next objective. Zed had arrived late, returning from delivering a message to the rear guard. He arrived only in time to see the last of the temples put to the torch. Now he stood in the center of the square. His massive sword hung limp in one hand, blade dragging across the paving stones.
At first he thought it was the Cyrans, and he cursed them for their cruelty. Then he saw a band of his fellow knights emerge from the temple of Kol Korran, still holding flaming brands and swords drenched in blood. He stared at them in silent horror, but they paid him no mind, marching out of the square. He stood, numb and confused, unable to comprehend what he had seen.
If he had been here earlier, could he have prevented this? Or would he have been swept up in the bloodlust of his comrades and done the same? He knew the charisma with which Kalaven commanded her soldiers; he had felt it personally. He just never imagined that she could be so brutal.
It was the scream that snapped him back to reality. A woman’s scream from the shadowed alley between two ruined temples. He ran toward the sound, only to find two of his comrades, Airik and Daiven, dragging a girl through the ash-strewn alley. Her scorched robes bore the octogram of the Sovereign Host, now stained with blood.
“What are you doing?” Zed shouted to them. “Where are you taking her?”
“Just following orders, Arthen,” Daiven said with a wicked grin. “Go find your own.”
Arthen’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. The flames that coursed through the temple district now seemed to seethe through him as well. He charged, lifting the heavy steel blade high and screaming in inarticulate rage. Airik and Daiven barely had time to defend themselves, not that it would have mattered, for they had always been poor examples of knights. Two strokes of his blade and the men lay dead. The priestess offered no thanks. Seeing the Silver Flame on Zed’s breastplate, she shrieked in terror and crawled away through the debris.
Zed slumped against the wall, tears streaming down his face. Around him, he could hear stone walls crack and crumble under their own weight. The flames consumed this once holy place. He felt weak, but his fingers gripped the hilt of his sword. It was the only thing that still seemed real. He would have prayed for the fire to topple the buildings upon him, but he could not bring himself to pray.
He closed his eyes.
A sharp pain in his calf made him wince. He reached for his leg with one hand but felt nothing. He felt another pain in his lower back, and it grew difficult to breathe. Zed peered about in confusion. The city of Vathirond became a blur.
And then he awakened, thrashing in a pool of stagnant, frigid water. He was in total darkness. Finding the ground beneath them, he lurched for the surface. He gasped for breath, the smell of smoke searing his nostrils. Debris pelted his face, driving him under the surface again. Somewhere, far above, he could see the crackling light of distant green fire. He dared to surface again, taking another breath. He could barely feel his arms and legs in the freezing water.
“Eraina?” he called out desperately. The darkness did not answer.
Zed reached into his coat and took out his smoking pouch, quickly drawing out the waterproof box of tindertwigs. He struck one, filling the collapsing cavern with just enough light to see. Amid the falling rocks and shattered wood, he saw a narrow tunnel leading away to his right. He also saw the gleam of polished armor before the light went out-it was Eraina, floating face down in the water.
Zed waded toward her, finding her arm and pulling it across her shoulders. He stumbled over a thin wooden shaft which he quickly realized was her spear. He grabbed it as he pushed on. Eraina’s body was limp and heavy. Praying she was alive, he kept moving, hoping he could swim out of the tunnel before the entire chapel collapsed on them. Fortunately the water was shallow enough to let him push along the bottom with his feet. A surging wave suddenly shoved him forward. A roaring crash filled the tunnel as tons of stone plummeted behind them. Zed kept swimming as fast as he could, letting the shockwave carry him and not looking back.