“If you say so,” Zed said.
“You’ve been in darkness for years,” Eraina said. “Adjust to the light gradually.”
Zed grumbled but said nothing more.
Beyond them, the cavern broadened into another large cave. The Draconic runes covered the walls and ceiling here, filling the chamber in an eerie crimson light. Eraina walked out into the middle of the chamber, staring upward in amazement. Zed stood just behind her, throwing his wet coat over one shoulder. He glanced from her face to the indecipherable runes.
“What does it say?” he asked.
“It’s a continuation of the prophecy Tristam found in Zul’nadn,” she said. “It says, ‘The conqueror finds all that he desires in the City of Towers. There, the Legacy begins to remake the world. The sky falls around those who have betrayed …’ ” She frowned. “There’s more but it’s very strange.”
“Strange?” Zed asked.
“It’s difficult to describe,” Eraina said. She winced, as if reading the words brought her physical discomfort. “You know that Boldrei has gifted me with a heightened sense of the truth.”
Zed nodded.
“That is what bothers me now,” she said. “I read the words of the Prophecy … and all that I see are lies.”
“How is that possible?” Zed asked.
Eraina looked at him, then instantly looked past him. Her body tensed at the sounds of approaching footsteps on stone. Zed pressed one finger over his lips and hurried back the way they had come, gesturing for Eraina to follow. They ducked back into the shadows of the tunnel just as a small man in copper robes entered the chamber. An escort of two Cyran soldiers followed him.
“Leave me,” the man said, waving dismissively.
“Do you wish us to inform you when the captain intends to launch, Brother Zamiel?” one of the guards asked.
Zed and Eraina looked at one another in surprise. The traitor, Marshal Killian, had been working for a man named Zamiel. Tristam had also mentioned a mysterious prophet, Zamiel, who set Marth upon his path. This was the first time they had seen him.
“No,” Zamiel said softly. “I will know.”
The guards bowed reverently and departed. Zamiel moved toward the eastern wall, toward a section where the Draconic runes were clustered thickly. He knelt upon the floor and folded his arms in his robes, tilting his head back to study the writings.
“Wait here,” Zed whispered to Eraina.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Possibly something stupid,” he said.
Zed dropped his coat on the ground and moved quietly across the room, slowly drawing his sword from its scabbard. He moved behind the prophet, approaching him slowly. He was standing just behind Zamiel before the little monk glanced back in surprise. Zed grabbed the man by the collar of his robes and lifted him with his right hand, shoving him back against the wall.
“Don’t call for help,” Zed said, holding his sword so the monk could see it.
The prophet laughed. “Very well,” he said. “You must be the inquisitive who has been lurking about. Zed Arthen, is it?”
“I’m not very interesting,” Zed said. “Let’s talk about you instead. Who are you, and why are you trying so hard to light up the war again?”
“You wish to know of destiny?” the prophet asked. His copper eyes gleamed with zealous madness. “Did you learn nothing in these caverns?”
Zamiel grasped Zed’s right wrist and twisted with a horrible snapping sound. Zed cried out and staggered backward, releasing the prophet. Zamiel lashed out again, delivering a powerful backhand that threw Zed a dozen feet across the floor. Zed sat up, cradling his injured arm and looking for his sword. The prophet advanced on him, but as he moved, his form shifted. By the time he reached Zed, the thin prophet had transformed into a massive copper beast, filling much of the cavern. Long horns curled from a sharp, triangular face. Broad wings stretched from muscular shoulders.
“Khyber, not another dragon,” Zed said.
“Those who trifle with destiny,” Zamiel hissed, leaning over him and opening his fanged maw wide, “will be crushed beneath it.”
SEVENTEEN
Get that man off my ship immediately,” Pherris said. The gnome’s face was dark red with anger. His tiny hands were balled into fists at his sides.
Shaimin d’Thuranni looked down at Pherris with a polite smile as he climbed the rope ladder into the hold. He wasn’t really surprised. This sort of reaction was typical from those who had faced him and survived, few as they were.
“Don’t be so angry, Captain,” Shaimin said. “I apologize for my rudeness the last time we met, but circumstances deemed violence appropriate.”
The gnome glared at the elf, then turned toward Dalan as he climbed aboard the airship. “Dalan, this is outrageous,” Pherris said. “I’ve been quite willing to tolerate more than a fair share of your bizarre proposals in the past, but this is a danger to the ship that I cannot allow. This man is an assassin! He attempted to murder Tristam, Seren, and myself. How can you possibly invite his presence here?”
“I didn’t invite him,” Dalan said, turning to help Seren climb inside. “Tristam did.”
Pherris cast a wide-eyed gaze on Tristam as he followed her. “Master Xain, have you lost your mind?”
“I don’t like it either, Pherris, but we need his help,” Tristam said. “He says he isn’t trying to kill us anymore, and I believe him. He had ample opportunity down in Nathyrr.”
“I promise to be on my best behavior, Captain,” Shaimin said with an elegant bow.
“Shaimin has apparently had something of a change of heart,” Dalan explained. “He helped Zed and Eraina find Marth’s fortress in the Harrowcrowns. He has offered to do the same for us.”
“And where are Zed and Eraina?” Pherris asked, looking at the elf again.
“They were being killed by Marth, last I saw,” Shaimin replied, shrugging.
“What?” Gerith asked, looking from Shaimin to the others. The little halfling was devastated. “No …”
“I cannot believe we are even entertaining this option,” Pherris said, glaring from Dalan to Tristam. “The only thing we are certain of is that he cannot be trusted.”
“I’m with Captain Gerriman on this one,” Ijaac said gravely. “Even if the elf’s telling the truth, he’s already turned on Marth. In my experience, anyone who would betray his allies once will just as quickly do so again.”
This was quickly becoming boring. “Your ham-fisted analysis of my character is a waste of time,” Shaimin said. “Master Xain, do we have a deal or not? If you don’t wish to aid me, perhaps Captain Draikus would be willing to offer his assistance.” The elf turned back toward the bay doors, where the boarding ladder still dangled over the road.
“No, wait,” Tristam said, holding out one hand. “Captain, I’m not asking for Shaimin to stay any longer than needed to direct us to Fort Ash. It won’t be more than a few hours. I don’t even plan to let him out of sight.”
“If it helps at all, my apology was quite sincere,” Shaimin said. “I realize how trite it is for an assassin to tell you his attack was nothing personal. Matters of life and death are always personal to those involved. However, I truly meant you no undue harm.”
Pherris stepped directly before the elf, looking up with his hands on his hips. “No,” the captain said. “You threatened me because I was small, old, and weak. You threatened me because you were in a position of power and wanted to use me to get to Tristam. You would have killed me for no other reason because it was easy to do so.”
Shaimin frowned.
“Well, think of this, elf,” Pherris said. “You’re a long way up, and this is my ship. You may think you’re clever. You may think you’re even immortal-but you’re the one who’s weak here. If you endanger any member of this crew or even think about turning on us, Omax will hurl you over the side. I promise you, d’Thuranni, as strong as you think you are … he is stronger.”
Shaimin felt the sudden looming presence of the warforged behind him. The elf tried not to look uncomfortable. The constructs always unnerved him. Perhaps it was their lack of soft places to drive a dagger into if things went poorly. The elf counted himself lucky that he did not actually intend to betray Karia Naille’s crew-at least for now. He had no desire to fight the massive Omax. A heavy three-fingered hand gently clamped over Shaimin’s shoulder.