Some of the injured mercenaries were already retreating, but one charged at Zed Arthen with a frenzied scream, clutching his longsword in both hands. Omax darted in from behind, kicking the mercenary’s feet out from under him. He fell face down and immediately rolled to stand again. Omax planted a foot heavily in the man’s face and he went limp.
Seren hurried to Tristam’s side, pausing only to snatch her dagger from the tree. Tristam tried to push her away as she reached for his bloody shirt but she slapped his hands away. Her fingers brushed against his stomach and she stared at him in astonishment. Though his shirt was soaked with blood, there was no wound.
Zed frowned ruefully as he wiped the blood off his blade with a dead mercenary’s cloak and sheathed it. “If they were trying to take me alive,” he said, “They weren’t trying very hard.”
“Whatcha mean, Zed? You look alive to me,” Gerith said. He smiled wickedly as he hopped down from a tree.
“Still following me, Snowshale?” the inquisitive asked, sheathing his blade with a clack.
“That’s some way to thank us for saving you,” Tristam said, still shivering from the effects of Eraina’s magic.
“I would have been fine, boy,” Zed said.
“Oh, I’m sure,” Tristam shot back angrily. “What are you doing showing the lens to a Sentinel Marshal?” He pointed at Eraina accusingly.
Eraina d’Deneith looked at Tristam with a cold expression. Her eyes flicked to the gaping hole in his shirt, then back to his face. “Speaking of questionable thanks …” she said simply.
“Time to fight later,” Omax said as he heaped the body of a mercenary against a tree. “None of us foresaw the coming of these men, so their presence is our immediate concern. This one is merely unconscious.” He lifted the soldier lying under his feet and propped him against a tree, then looked at Eraina. “You are a healer. Can you revive him? Perhaps we can question him.”
Eraina nodded, sheathing her shortsword and walking over to the fallen man.
“Belay that, Marshal Eraina,” Zed said, cocking his head to one side. Seren could hear it too, now, a steady throbbing hum growing swiftly louder. “We’d best run.”
The trees above exploded in a blaze of white light just as a sleek silver airship broke through the canopy. It was larger even than the Lyrandar ship, with the national crest of Cyre emblazoned on the hull. Electricity crackled from a long rod mounted on the hull.
“Khyber,” Zed grumbled.
Seren turned and ran with the others at her side; a flurry of crossbow bolts pelted the clearing. She felt a burning pain in her calf and her leg went dead. Just as she stumbled, Zed Arthen wrapped an arm around her waist and kept running, bearing her weight with ease.
“Gerith, we need a distraction and an exit!” Zed shouted as they ran deeper into the woods.
“Working on it!” came the halfling’s reply. This was accompanied by a whoosh of air and the flap of broad wings as he swooped overhead and soared up over the trees. The glidewing soared back directly toward the airship, dodging and weaving as missiles rained into the forest. A plume of bright light fired from a tube in Gerith’s hand onto the ship’s deck, exploding in a cloud of pale gray smoke. Then Blizzard dove again, vanishing into the trees before the Cyran ship could score a lucky hit.
“What else did he take out of my lab?” Tristam shouted, looking back with a scowl.
“Shut up and keep running,” Zed shouted.
“Why aren’t we running toward the village?” Tristam shouted back.
“Black Pit has enough problems,” Zed said. “Those soldiers won’t stop shooting if innocent people get in the way.”
Under different circumstances, Seren might have argued the existence of innocent people in Black Pit. She kept such comments to herself and just kept hopping along in pain. Each jolt sent waves of agony through her leg. The roaring thrum of the strange airship receded and Zed set her down carefully against a tree. Seren was about to offer thanks, but her words became a confused stutter when she saw the crossbow bolt piercing through her calf.
“A clean wound,” Zed said cheerfully. He clapped her on the shoulder and stood, facing the others. “You took it well, Seren. Most men faint the first time they’re shot.”
Seren only nodded dumbly, fighting the urge to do just that.
“Eraina, please help her,” Zed said. “Omax, establish a perimeter. Make sure we don’t have any more of those mercenaries chasing us.”
The warforged stomped into the woods without a word. The dark-haired marshal knelt by Seren’s side, tending her wounded leg with the tender precision of a practiced medic.
“What’s your name?” she asked, smiling gently.
“Seren,” she said, then stifled a cry as Eraina used the moment of distraction to snap the crossbow bolt and draw both ends cleanly from the leg. Eraina bound a scrap of silk cloth tightly over the wound and whispered a soft prayer. Seren heard the name “Boldrei.” Motes of white magic spread from Eraina’s fingers to the wound. Her leg felt numb, then cold, and then the pain went away. Her calf twitched uncomfortably and itched a little, but there was no more pain.
“Thank you,” Seren said, amazed.
Eraina studied her with an intensely curious expression.
“Can she run?” Zed asked brusquely. “We have to be ready to move.”
“Why do you keep giving us orders, Arthen?” Tristam asked.
“This is not the time, Xain,” Zed said, watching the sky.
“Yes, Sir,” Tristam said. “I guess that’s the way it always is. We need your help and you run off to Black Pit, but the instant you’re in trouble it’s back to giving orders. What’s your problem, Zed? Do we all look like squires to you?”
“I will assume that the stress of the moment has overcome your senses and I will let that slide, Xain,” Zed answered. “Do not mock me again. Not about that.”
“Then tell me what in Khyber is going on here!” Tristam demanded. “Where did that airship come from?”
“Zed was as surprised to see that ship as we were, Tristam,” Seren said.
“No,” Zed said. “That’s not what he’s talking about, Seren. Tristam recognized that ship. So did I.” Zed looked at Tristam with a sober, pensive expression. “Now is not the time to worry on it. We’ll all get our answers.”
“We had better,” Eraina said, folding her arms across her chest and glaring coldly at Tristam and Zed.
Tristam grimaced at Eraina and quickly looked away, clearly uncertain whether to demand an explanation for her presence or thank her for saving his life. Instead he sat beside Seren with an exhausted sigh. He looked at the bandage on her leg, then at the Deneith Marshal. He shrugged uncomfortably into his heavy coat.
“Shouldn’t we be getting back to Karia Naille?” Seren asked.
“Gerith went for help,” Tristam said. “Pherris is probably on his way to us already.”
“How will he find us?” she asked.
“Aeven always finds us,” Tristam said.
“Aeven?” Seren asked, but was interrupted by the thrum of an airship overhead.
Seren’s heart jumped at the familiar rhythm. Even though she had only been on the ship for a short time, the song of Karia Naille’s elemental fire was welcome and familiar. She leapt up just as Tristam did, just as Omax returned from his patrol. She watched the airship pass over the trees and stop, hovering above them. The cargo ladder unrolled and hung in the air with a snap.
“Ladies first, Marshal Eraina,” Tristam said with equal parts courtesy and suspicion.