“The battle that created the Boneyard,” Tristam said.
“But it also says that in creating the Legacy, the dragons awakened something powerful and ancient and drew its attention to this world,” Eraina said. “It is referred to as the Timeless, but it is a being with no true name. Its strength could be seen through the Dragon’s Eye. Each time the Legacy is used, a piece of its soul becomes trapped in this world forever. Though it has all the power any being can desire, it wishes for more.”
“More?” Ijaac asked. “What more could it need?”
“An end to solitude,” Omax said. “The Timeless must be the same being that I have sensed each time the Legacy is used. What becomes of the pieces of its soul after they enter our world?”
“It does not say,” Eraina said, glancing from page to page. “It jumps abruptly. I think a page has been removed.”
“Zamiel wanted to keep the rest of the truth for himself,” Tristam said.
“The next part sounds quite a bit like the vision you had in Zul’nadn,” Eraina said. She frowned. “A few details are significantly different. You won’t like this.”
“Tell me,” Tristam said.
“It speaks of a conqueror, wise, powerful, and immortal,” she said.
Tristam frowned. “In Zul’nadn, the conqueror was mortal.”
“I warned you,” she said. “The conqueror will be one who has walked long in shadow, one who has denied his own kind and been cast out from his homeland. Though he has never touched the Legacy, he has witnessed and mastered its power.”
“So Zamiel isn’t looking for a conqueror,” Tristam said. “He is the conqueror. He was just looking for a pawn to craft the Legacy for him so he could fulfill his own destiny.”
“When the Legacy burns the sky,” Eraina said, “the Timeless will begin to awaken.”
“Referring to Marth’s attack on Sharn,” Tristam said.
“The veil between our worlds will grow thin,” she continued. “The last Heir of Ash will take up the Legacy and restore what has been shattered as the moon burns around him.”
“Hm,” Ijaac said grimly. “Sounds like that part has already happened, too.”
“What happens next?” Tristam asked.
“One moon must pass for each that has fallen,” Eraina said.
“Seven days,” Omax said. “For the Seventh Moon.”
“Then the plains of bone will know the touch of the Timeless,” she continued. “The conqueror will seek him, and they shall become one. The conqueror’s enemies will recognize their weakness and be forever laid low.”
“Ouch,” Ijaac said. “Sounds like we’re destined to lose.”
No,” Tristam said fiercely. “Zamiel has lied to further his own ends before. Khyber, you already said part of the transcription is missing. We have no way of knowing what the missing section says.”
“Or if what we have seen is even genuine,” Omax said.
“Omax is right,” Eraina said. “All of this could be a trap, Tristam.”
“Maybe,” Tristam said, “but right now we have nothing else. Zamiel didn’t expect me to find that book just yet. He killed Norra to keep it a secret. He probably didn’t expect the prophecy to be fulfilled so soon, either. If the Boneyard really is manifest zone bordering on whatever realm this Timeless dwells in, maybe we can use the Legacy the same way we did in Zul’nadn. Maybe we can close it off from our world forever. We have one last chance.”
The others looked at Tristam dubiously.
“At this point we have nothing left to lose,” Tristam said. “If the prophecy is true, then it will resolve itself with or without us and we’ve already lost. I don’t believe that. I believe we still have a chance to stop Zamiel. It’s just as you said, Eraina. It ends with us.”
Ijaac looked at Tristam dubiously. “We have less than seven days, Tristam,” he said.
Tristam stood and limped toward the ladder. He climbed to the upper deck with some difficulty. Pherris looked up from where he had been napping beside the helm.
“Master Xain,” he said, beaming happily. “Good to see you on your feet.”
“Captain,” Xain said, nodding respectfully. “Can we fly from Sharn to the Boneyard in seven days?”
“If we leave now, fly full speed without any breaks, keep the wind behind us, and cut directly through the Mournland,” the gnome said dubiously.
“Good,” Tristam said, nodding eagerly. “When can we leave?”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Zed was no expert where matters of airship maintenance were concerned. He preferred to leave those sorts of matters to Pherris and Tristam. Though he trusted their judgment, he was beginning to worry. The elemental ring that surrounded the ship had subtly begun to shift, day by day. What once burned a brilliant blue slowly changed. The flames now seethed a murky indigo. The deck rattled noticeably under their feet. Tristam often hurried around the deck, checking the struts and adjusting things.
Passing over the Mournland without incident was a small blessing. The creatures that roamed that place appeared, for the most part, to be bound near the earth. Zed sometimes noticed shifting spirits swimming in the mists far below them, but nothing attacked them directly. Dalan spent that entire day locked in his cabin, unwilling to look upon his homeland again. In contrast, Omax had stood at the rail the entire time, staring down at the thick mists. Once they crossed the border into the Talenta Plains, Omax returned below deck to meditate.
Now the vast homeland of the halflings stretched below them. It would not be long before they arrived at their goal. With this sunset, it would be seven days since the battle over Sharn. Zed was silently impressed. He hadn’t thought even the Mourning Dawn could make this trip so swiftly. He avoided saying anything on the matter. Pherris was too occupied on their course. Any distraction, even praise, was likely to upset the gnome.
Zed had taken his evening’s dinner to the deck to enjoy a Plains sunset. His massive sword hung over one shoulder; he knew he would need it soon. As Zed looked for a barrel or crate to sit on, he noticed Gerith huddled in the corner of the deck. The halfling quietly stroked his glidewing’s neck and sang quietly to himself. Zed didn’t recognize the words, but the tone was moody and oddly heartbreaking. Zed sat quietly and listened. Near the end of the song, Seren climbed onto the deck and sat beside him, listening as well.
“That was beautiful,” Seren said when Gerith was done. “What was that?”
“A song of good-bye,” Gerith said. “A song for friends who will never come home again. My grandfather taught it to me.”
“Who are you singing for?” Zed asked, taking out his pipe and stuffing the bowl.
“For Norra and Shaimin,” Gerith said. “For Marth.”
“Marth?” Seren asked. “Why?”
The halfling looked at her with haunted eyes. “I know you did what had to be done, Seren,” Gerith said. “I hated Marth for what he did to the Ghost Talons … but when I learned what happened to his family, I started to wonder. How easy would it be for a good man to become what he became?”
“Too easy,” Zed said.
Gerith nodded. “I sing for them, and for myself.”
“Listen, Gerith, if you’re afraid of entering the Boneyard …” Zed said. “Everyone understands your tribe’s beliefs. You can take Blizzard and fly away before we land. No one will think any less of you.”
“I’m not talking about the Boneyard,” Gerith said vehemently. “I already decided I was coming with you. I wouldn’t be able to face myself if I didn’t help. I’m not afraid of the curse.”
“Oh,” Zed said, taken aback by the fire in the halfling’s words. On their last visit, Gerith and the other halflings had been terribly suspicious of the Boneyard, believing any halfling who entered would die far from home, unmourned.
“You both know about my promise,” the halfling said. “I told my grandfather I wouldn’t return until I found a story greater than any of his. In Sharn, I realized that would never happen.”