“Don’t be afraid, Seren,” a woman’s voice whispered in her ear.
Then Karia Naille struck the unforgiving surface with a crash. Seren’s head snapped back against the deck, and then there was nothing.
The storm disappeared as quickly as it came. The helm of Kenshi Zhann filled with eerie silence. Through the forward panel, Marth could see a vast expanse of nothing. He darted to the window, looking in all directions, milky eyes scouring the sky for any sign of their quarry.
Karia Naille was gone.
Marth spun about in a fury, chest heaving with every breath. His hand tightened about his amethyst wand, though there were no enemies about. He composed himself when he realized that the helmsman was staring at him with open terror.
“I’m sorry, Captain Marth,” the man said in a low voice. “I didn’t expect them to be so fast, or for the storm to come up so suddenly, or for them to veer at us like that. I take full responsibility for their escape.”
The changeling raised a silencing hand, closing his eyes patiently. “You did nothing wrong, Devyn,” he said. “Pherris Gerriman is the finest airship pilot this side of House Lyrandar. I am not altogether surprised. His ship, like ours, needs neither magic nor dragonmark to command her-the proper training and an iron will are all that are required.” Marth smiled at Devyn. “Next time, Devyn, your will must be stronger than Gerriman’s.”
The helmsman smiled in relief. “I won’t fail you, Captain,” he said.
Marth nodded in reply, ignoring the helmsman. Inwardly, the changeling restrained himself from punishing the pilot. He could not afford to do so, not now. Devyn was the best pilot among his crew, other than himself. He would need the fool if Karia Naille turned out not to be as damaged as she looked. In the meantime, perhaps his presumed mercy would drive the helmsman to try harder. Anything was possible.
“Land there,” Marth said, pointing to a nearby valley. “We will repair the damage to our vessel.”
“Captain?” the helmsman said. “We suffered minimal damage, but the Karia Naille was crippled. She cannot have run far. If we patrol the area, we may find her.”
“There is no need to patrol,” Marth said. “I already know where d’Cannith is going … even if he does not.”
CHAPTER 18
Seren sat up with a groan, rubbing the knot on the back of her skull. She looked at her fingers and was relieved to see no blood. Rising gingerly, she noticed no other injuries besides several bruises and some soreness where the strange roots had held her during the crash. The plants were gone now, just as quickly as they had appeared. She had survived unscathed.
Zed lay on the deck nearby, looking dazed. Eraina knelt beside him, applying a bandage to the bleeding gash on his forehead. Pherris lay on the deck as well. His right arm had already been splinted.
“Are you injured, Seren?” Eraina asked, looking at her in concern.
“I don’t think so,” Seren said.
The same, unfortunately, could not be said of Karia Naille. The airship had come to rest at the bottom of a narrow gorge, leaving a deep gouge behind her. The lower strut that once held the ring of fire in place now lay cracked and broken nearby. Tristam knelt beside the hook at one end, studying it while Omax hauled debris and sorted it into a pile. Of the elemental fire that once surrounded the ship, all that was visible was a weak blue plume of crackling fire drifting from the upper arm. Sparkling motes of energy periodically separated themselves from the plume and drifted away on the wind. Seren had the impression the fire was slowly dying.
But what truly drew Seren’s attention was the woman who now sat cross-legged on the upper strut. She was thin and petite, with long pointed ears and a rounded, childlike face. Long, golden hair hung loose over her bare shoulders. She wore a short dress of pale green that seemed woven of thin leaves. Her eyes were closed in quiet concentration and she kept both hands plunged into the elemental fire. It appeared to do her no harm.
“Don’t disturb her, Miss Morisse,” Dalan said from the cabin behind her. “She’s the ship’s only hope of ever flying again.”
Seren looked back at Dalan. The fat guildmaster’s cabin was a mess. Books and trophies had spilled haphazardly from the shelves. Strangely, Dalan paid the mess no mind. He sat on his bed. His old dog lay limply beside him, whining plaintively and gasping for breath. Dalan sat beside it and petted it with a worried frown. Seren stared for a long time. Dalan showing such concern for his pet was almost more surprising than the strange woman sitting atop the ship’s strut. It was more genuine emotion than she had ever seen in the man. Dalan noticed her scrutiny, leaned forward, and gently pushed his cabin door closed. Seren looked back up at the woman on the arm, feeling like an intruder for witnessing Dalan in such a state.
“Who is she?” Seren asked.
“Aeven,” Zed said, sitting up a bit, hissing with pain, and quickly lying down again. “She’s a dryad.”
“Dryad?” Eraina asked. “How is that possible? Such trickster spirits are bound to trees. They cannot leave their forests.”
“You know nothing, paladin,” Aeven said in a soft voice, never opening her eyes. “The livewood is a tree that never dies unless burned to ashes. Even when cut, it continues to live though it ceases to grow. For a dryad bound to such a tree, this can be both blessing and curse.”
Seren’s eyes moved to the ship’s figurehead. The delicate sculpture remained improbably unharmed by the crash. It was the perfect likeness of Aeven.
“Among my people I was a druid,” she said. “The soul of Eberron resonates within me, and I longed to see the world beyond Aerenal. A human sailor offered me a chance to leave my home, cutting and shaping my tree in my image. I was to protect his vessel.” Aeven paused, a pained look flickering across her face. “They proved to be wicked men, with savage appetites. Ashrem d’Cannith saved me from their clutches. He gave me a new home on Karia Naille. This ship is my forest now.” She opened her eyes and looked down at Eraina, her gaze a pure and depthless green.
“Dryads don’t like being called tricksters, Eraina,” Zed said with a half-smile. “Especially after they save your life.”
Eraina’s face darkened in shame. “I apologize, Aeven,” she said. “I meant no insult.”
Aeven only tilted her perfect chin, gave Seren an inscrutable look, and closed her eyes again. Seren had the sensation that the shimmering blue flame was watching her.
“Is there anything I can do?” Seren asked, looking helplessly at the crippled ship.
“Help Tristam,” Zed said.
“I don’t really know anything about fixing airships,” she said.
“No, but you can make him focus,” Zed said, drawing a sharp breath as Eraina tightened the bandage around his left leg. “He’s been broken up since the crash, but he’s more confident when you’re around, Seren. If he can’t focus, you’re going to have to get him focused for all our sakes.”
“You’re beginning to sound as manipulative as Dalan,” Seren said.
Zed smirked. “Dalan has nothing on me.”
Seren climbed over the rail and dropped lightly to the ground. She stepped back from the ship and examined the damage. The airship looked relatively unharmed save a few patches where the outer hull had been stripped away and the shattered arm. Tristam appeared almost instantly by her side, looking down with a worried expression.