“Seren, are you all right?” he asked, interrupting the question she had been about to ask. “Eraina said you hit your head.”
“I’m fine,” she answered, offering a soothing smile. “Zed and Pherris look worse than I do, and I think Dalan’s dog is hurt.”
“You’re worried about Gunther?” Tristam asked with a chuckle.
Seren shrugged.
“Compassion is that which separates warriors from heroes,” Omax said quietly, dropping another load of debris in the pile.
Tristam gave the warforged a look, then grinned back at Seren. “Don’t mind Omax. He gets philosophical.”
Seren studied the crippled ship again. “The damage doesn’t look as bad as I thought it would,” she said.
“Airships are mostly made of soarwood,” Tristam said. “It’s naturally buoyant in the air, so with a good pilot a crash is usually something you can walk away from. Usually.”
“Will it fly again?” Seren asked.
“She, not it, Seren,” Tristam said. “Ships are always ‘she.’ And I don’t know. The hull just needs some patching, but the keel arm snapped right off.”
“What is Aeven doing up there?” Seren asked, pointing up at the dryad.
Tristam frowned uncomfortably. “Honestly, I’m not sure. She has some sort of connection with the elemental bound to Karia Naille. With the damage the ship has taken, the elemental could have become unbound and returned to its home plane-or worse yet, stuck around and killed us all. Aeven has convinced the elemental to remain for a while, but even she can’t keep it here forever.” Tristam ran one hand through his unkempt hair as he surveyed the wreckage.
“Convinced it?” Seren asked.
“Elementals don’t belong in this world,” Tristam said. “An airship can bind one and harness its power, but a dead ship can’t hold an elemental anymore.” He sighed. “That’s not even considering that Karia Naille will just collapse under her own weight if we leave her lying on her hull too long. She’s designed to be buoyed in the air, not lying on rocks. We need to get her up on some sort of hoist or scaffolding so that I can finish the repairs and replace the keel strut. It wouldn’t take long to get her airworthy enough to limp to a real city for proper repairs, but we don’t have the materials or the manpower to do it.” The artificer offered Seren a hopeless look. “I don’t know what to do, Seren.”
“You kept the ship together long enough for Pherris to land,” she said. “That’s what’s important, Tristam. You saved us. We’ll figure out the rest.”
He smiled thankfully, but said nothing.
“Something is coming,” Omax said, standing up abruptly. The warforged’s glowing eyes fixed on the far end of the gorge, along the deep rut the crashing airship had left behind.
Fearing that Marth’s soldiers might have found them, Seren reached for her dagger. Tristam’s wand was already in his hand. After several moments the sound of heavy footfalls could be heard. Seren thought that they were hoof beats at first, given their speed and volume, but the rhythm was wrong.
A cloud of dust rolled around the corner of the gorge, heralding the arrival of a half dozen large, bipedal lizards. Each was the size of a small horse, their hides a pale gray slashed with brilliant green stripes. Their yellow eyes were catlike and intelligent. Their grinning maws were lined with razor-sharp teeth. Small forearms hung close to their bodies. Each thickly muscled leg ended with a single sharply curved talon. The creatures wore leather harnesses on their backs, and upon each sat a halfling rider. They dressed in wild outfits of dark leather and bright silk, with thick crystal goggles to protect their eyes from dust. Each carried a quiver of short javelins on his back. The riders fanned out in a half-moon formation as they approached the fallen airship, each rider coming to a halt in perfect unison a hundred feet away. Twelve sets of eyes watched them alertly for any sign of hostility.
“Halfling hunters,” Tristam said. He did not make any move toward them, but neither did he put his weapon away.
A loud shriek rang out from above, followed by the leathery flap of wings. Blizzard landed gracefully between the crew and the halflings, his injured wing now healed by Eraina’s magic. From the glidewing’s back, Gerith greeted them with a broad smile.
“These six fine fellows are elite clawhunters from the Ghost Talon tribe,” Gerith said, hopping from his saddle and indicating them with a broad gesture. “This is their leader, Koranth, who will take us to meet Chief Rossa. I believe he’s a distant cousin of mine, but it’s difficult to be sure. My bloodline is somewhat … tangled.”
“Color me surprised,” Seren said.
Koranth looked at Seren, then at the dagger in her hand. He barked something at Gerith and pointed at her.
“Put your weapons away, please,” Dalan said, climbing down the gangplank to join them. “If you antagonize the Ghost Talons, they’ll only increase the fee for their aid. I fear they’ll already be charging a great deal, given our obvious desperation.”
“Sorry,” Seren said, bowing her head pertly to Koranth and sheathing her dagger. Tristam put his wand away as well.
The halfling scowled and said something unintelligible.
“Koranth only speaks a little bit of your language, unfortunately,” Gerith explained. “The others speak only the halfling tongue.”
Dalan spoke to Koranth in the same high-pitched, rapid language, finishing with a formal bow. Koranth gave a small salute and eyed Dalan suspiciously.
“Dalan, I didn’t know you spoke my tongue,” Gerith said.
“I don’t,” he said. He tapped the soft black cap he now wore. “Tristam’s work. It gives me a rough understanding of their speech. It tends to place words poorly in context, stumbles with regional dialects, and is utterly confounded by slang, but it’s better than nothing.” He continued speaking to Koranth in the halfling language again.
The two spoke for some time, with Gerith often stepping in to explain when Dalan or Koranth misunderstood each other. Dalan made a loud comment and gestured back each of the crew members in turn. There was obviously some attempt at humor in his introductions, for Koranth’s sour face broke into a smile and his fellow hunters laughed out loud. Seren wondered what he had said but was more impressed with how expertly he had said it. In mere seconds and without truly knowing their language, d’Cannith had brightened their hostile mood and earned their respect.
After several minutes of negotiation, Dalan took several folded papers from his coat and handed them to the halfling. Koranth turned in his saddle and whistled shrilly. In reply, an enormous threehorn rumbled around the bend in the gorge. This one wore a complex harness over its broad back. Two halflings sat at the front, each holding a thick rope tied to one of the creature’s horns. Two more hung from the back on each side, shortbows slung over their backs.
“Their beast can carry three of us to the Ghost Talon camp, where we can negotiate directly with their chieftain,” Dalan explained. “I will go, obviously. Gerith, we will need your knowledge of the culture. Follow us on your glidewing.”
“Aye, Dalan,” Gerith said.
“Seren, I will require your aid as well.”
“Aye,” she said, echoing the halfling.
“You should take Omax along,” Tristam offered. “You may need his strength.”
Dalan looked at the warforged with some surprise. “Are you certain you don’t wish him to remain with the ship?” he asked.
“Tristam is correct,” Omax said. “You may need me.”
“The halfling beast cannot carry you,” Dalan said.
“I can keep up,” the warforged said, undaunted.
“Very well,” Dalan said with a respectful nod. “Probably best we also bring the paladin, if only to keep her away from Aeven for a while.”
“Aeven didn’t seem angry,” Seren said.
“And count us all fortunate,” Dalan said. “Aeven’s temper is difficult to rouse, but terrible to behold. Gather whatever supplies you will need and bring the marshal, Seren.”