Eraina set the pace for the others, moving with tireless energy. Gerith remained mostly airborne and out of sight, returning to adjust their course or prepare a brief meal. With each hour that passed, the halfling’s cheerful demeanor grew more subdued. Seren met the change with mixed feelings. While a part of her was relieved that the halfling had ceased his bad jokes and mischievous flirtations, she was saddened to see the cheerful little scout so depressed.
The silence of her companions only added to Seren’s sense of foreboding. Eraina was in a sour mood after her confrontation with Dalan. The warforged plodded along just behind her, hardly saying a word. That night, they pitched their tents and slept on the grass in tense silence. Early the next morning, they set out again. Seren had grown so used to the silence that Omax startled her with an unexpected question.
“What do you expect we will find?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said, slowing her pace so he walked beside her. “A lot of the world outside Wroat is still new to me. I never know what to expect.”
The warforged looked down at her. His metal face radiated concern, or perhaps she just imagined it. “If the halflings fear the Boneyard, we should be extremely cautious.”
She laughed. “Whatever frightens halflings can’t be all that scary.”
“You underestimate them,” Omax answered. “If halflings fear this place, we would be wise to do the same. Halflings are tenacious warriors. Have you ever seen Gerith shy away from danger? You have seen the way he leaps to his glidewing, hurling himself into the sky without hesitation.”
“That’s true,” Seren admitted. “Though Gerith is the only halfling I’ve really known. It’s hard for me to imagine him as a tenacious warrior.”
“Then you do not truly know him,” Omax said. “Gerith has defeated the most difficult foe with ease.”
“What foe is that?” she asked.
“Himself,” Omax said. “None of the rest of us can claim such mastery. We are all haunted by ghosts, burdened by memories of what we once were, fearful of what we might become, or driven by the impossibly high expectations of others. Most souls look outside themselves for validation. Gerith is one of the few men I have met who knows who he truly is and is at peace with that. He is the strongest of us all, Seren.” He looked at her. “And he is afraid.”
Seren was silent for a long time. “I never thought about halflings that way, but I never bothered to get to know them. I’ve never really known a warforged before either. You’re more philosophical than I expected.”
“Philosophical?” Omax asked with a rattling chuckle. “A philosopher asks the world why he exists, but I already know the answer to that question.”
“Oh?” Seren asked. “Why do you exist, Omax?”
“To kill,” Omax said sadly. “I am a weapon.” The warforged bowed his head and stared at the back of one wide metal hand, a smooth surface of adamantine and darkwood tattooed with an ancient patchwork of battle scars. “I was among the first warforged that were truly alive. Beside a legion of my brethren I led a Cyran assault against the nation of Breland. The soldiers we faced were not prepared for our power. A single platoon escaped, taking refuge in the only fortified structure they could find-a monastery of the Sovereign Host.”
“That must have been a long time ago,” Seren said.
“To me, the memories are fresh,” Omax said. “The monks gave our enemies sanctuary and would not surrender them to us. My orders were clear-those who would not surrender were to be showed no mercy. We battered down the doors and invaded the monastery … the monks offered no violence but …” The warforged’s three-fingered hand closed with a metallic clang. “They would not stand aside.”
“Omax,” Seren said softly. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”
“It was a slaughter, Seren. They were no match for us, and they knew it.” He looked at her again. His blue eyes shone coldly. She did not know what else to say, so she continued to listen.
“One of the last surviving enemy soldiers must have been a wizard or artificer of some sort. As a final show of defiance, he unleashed an explosion that gutted the monastery, burying me and my comrades beneath tons of rubble. The others perished, but I did not. I found myself trapped in silence and shadow. A warforged needs neither food, nor air, nor sleep. So for two decades, I remained there.”
“What did you do all that time?” she asked.
“Nothing but think about how I had come to be,” he said. “Until at last I saw the light again. Tristam was the one who found me and repaired me. He gave me back my life, and this time I did not make the same mistake.”
“To be a warrior?” Seren asked.
Omax shook his head. “No,” he said. “To be a warrior is a worthy task, to fight with honor for a cause. That is not what I was. I was created with the power of choice, Seren. Though I am a machine, intended to be a weapon, I was somehow given the potential to become something more. Instead, I chose to obey blindly because it was the easier path. When I looked into the eyes of those monks, I saw the truth too late. Any crude weapon can take life away. When I refused to find a better way, I chose to be less than I could be. I squandered the gift I had been given, and I squandered the lives of those men and the warforged who followed me. Tristam gave me a second chance. I know what I was meant to be, Seren, but I do not wish to be only that.”
“You still sound like a philosopher to me,” Seren said. “You know the answers, but now you’re looking for a new question.”
He glanced at her sharply. His blue eyes flickered. “Yes,” he said in an amused voice. “That is exactly so. You have a keen mind, Seren. I can see why Tristam admires you.”
“Me?” she said. “He’s barely spoken to me since we left Black Pit. He’s been obsessed with his work.”
“Tristam has difficulty allowing others into his life,” Omax said. “Yet he cares for you, Seren. Remember that it was only after Dalan commanded you to join him that Tristam volunteered my aid.”
Seren blinked at Omax in surprise. She realized that the warforged had not wandered far from her side since leaving Karia Naille. Even during their meeting with the halfling chieftain, he had remained as close to the tent as he dared. “Tristam sent you to protect me?” she asked, sounding a bit outraged.
“It seems that way,” Omax said. “I think my efforts will be largely wasted. You appear quite capable of protecting yourself.”
Seren laughed and smiled up at Omax, but the warforged’s blue eyes were locked straight ahead. She followed his gaze to find that Gerith had landed atop a hill. Eraina was already kneeling beside the halfling, shielding her eyes from the sun as she studied the distant horizon. She hurried to join them.
“Well, there it is,” Gerith greeted them in a hushed voice. “This is as far as I go.”
Beneath them, the grassy plains gradually gave way to a valley of chalky white, nestled just against the mountains. Chasms and gorges crisscrossed the surface, creating a maze of shadowed stone. Large white shapes broke the ground here and there, occasionally curving into a fearsome claw or a narrow skull with empty, staring eyes. The creatures that once owned these bones must have been truly immense if such detail was visible even from here.
“A graveyard for dragons,” Eraina said, crouching low as she scanned the area for danger. “Your people were right to be wary of this place, Snowshale. Boldrei warns me that there is evil here.”
“You needed Boldrei to tell you that?” Gerith asked, stunned.
The paladin ignored the halfling.
“Are there still dragons here?” Omax asked.
“No,” Gerith said. “Nobody’s ever seen a live dragon here, though if you ask me that isn’t very reassuring. I’d almost rather meet a dragon than whatever frightens the dragons away.”