“Seren, focus,” Eraina shouted, stabbing at the nearest creature with her spear.
Omax rolled to his feet, still struggling. The creature chewed hungrily at his chest and limbs. Unable to dislodge it, he instead positioned himself over a sharp bone outcropping and fell forward with all his weight. Something snapped noisily and the creature’s mad gibbering became a shriek of pain. Its limbs flailed violently, pushing the warforged away. Omax fell to one side, out of its grasp, leaving the thing impaled on the now fractured spike.
Seren’s hand found her dagger and clasped the hilt. Her world drew into focus again. She leapt to her feet, holding the weapon in one hand. The weapon would likely do little good against these things, but being armed once again lent her confidence.
“These are the same creatures we fought in Black Pit,” Omax said as another rose over a heap of bony debris.
“More are coming,” Kiris said as two more dripped from bony overhangs in the distance. “These are aberrations of Xoriat, gibbering creatures that corrupt the earth and spread madness to paralyze their prey. We cannot fight so many. Follow me if you can, but do not expect me to wait for you.”
The gibbering sounds became louder again. They pressed in like a wave, clawing at their minds, seeking to tear away reason. Seren’s eyes narrowed as she fought for focus. She saw another flash of magic far ahead. Kiris was abandoning them … but she was fighting her way toward something.
“Omax, grab Eraina’s hand,” Seren said, sheathing her dagger and digging through her pouches.
The warforged complied, though both he and the paladin looked at her with confusion. Seren drew out two of Gerith’s flares, broke the ends, tossed them to the ground, and grasped Omax’s other arm. The manic gibbering was broken by a loud shriek, a flash of light, and a choking cloud of smoke.
“Follow me,” Seren shouted, charging in the direction Kiris had fled. She hoped they had the presence of mind to follow, because she certainly wasn’t strong enough to drag Omax against his will.
They trudged along blindly after her, stumbling out of the smoke. The smell of burning, rotten flesh wafted over them, rising from one of the creatures Kiris had killed. Seren saw a patch of brown movement and ran after it, just in time to see the wizard disappear through a cleft in the bone wall.
Seren hesitated only a moment before darting through after her.
CHAPTER 20
At first glance, the crack in the wall appeared to extend only a few feet. Kiris had disappeared without a trace. Seren reached out to find the inside wall was actually a dull white curtain, blending seamlessly with the bones. She pushed it aside and stepped into a small natural cavern. A rumpled blanket lay in one corner, surrounded by scattered books. A collection of oddly shaped bone fragments littered the center of the room. The remains of a small fire smoldered in the corner, smoke trickling through a crack in the roof. The chamber smelled of stale sweat and smoke. Kiris Overwood stood in the far corner of the cavern, watching her suspiciously.
“Mind the wards,” she said, pointing at Seren’s feet with a slender copper wand. “It is safe for you to step over but break their border and the aberrations of Xoriat will swiftly come for us.”
The mad shrieking that filled the Boneyard punctuated her warning. Seren looked down and saw a row of shimmering silver runes spanning the threshold. She stepped over with care, as did Eraina. A loud crack sounded as Omax forced his thick bulk through the narrow opening and carefully followed them inside. Kiris darted past them, pulling the curtain over the opening again and offering them a suspicious look.
“You picked a fine time to come here,” she said. “Some days the Boneyard is quiet. This is not one of them.”
“Are you certain we are safe here?” Eraina asked.
“Quite certain,” Kiris said. “The wards both conceal our presence from the beasts and bar their entrance. They cannot even hear us, but I ask that you keep your voices down regardless. While my magic protects against the horrors from beyond this world, sometimes more mundane threats prowl this place. Fortune seekers. Grave robbers. Opportunists.” She looked at each of them sharply. “And tell your weapon to keep its distance.” She gestured at Omax with her wand.
Omax folded his heavy arms across his chest, neither backing away nor making any aggressive movement.
“Omax means no harm,” Seren said.
“So it claims, I am sure,” Kiris answered. “Be wary. I saw the damage those abominable things can do in the war, and I know this one well. Tristam was a fool to ever repair it.”
“On my honor as a Sentinel Marshal and a Spear of Boldrei, I vouch for the warforged,” Eraina said.
“A Sentinel Marshal working for Dalan d’Cannith?” Kiris said. “I thought you mercenaries were more selective.”
“There is no need to threaten Omax or insult me,” Eraina said, her voice cool.
“I mean no insult, I merely wish to gauge your motivations,” Kiris said. “As for threats, that was no threat; it was a warning. If you would ally yourselves with a warforged, you are already in danger. Those beasts have a disturbing propensity for violence and betrayal.”
“She is right,” Omax said. “Yet I assure you, Lady Overwood, I have set that path behind me. I serve Tristam Xain now.”
“Tristam?” Kiris asked, recognition flickering in her eyes. “He is here?”
“He is repairing our damaged airship,” Seren said.
Kiris’s angry scowl softened in confusion, but only for an instant. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “How did Dalan find me?”
“We found an enchanted hand lens that you created,” Seren said. “It was in the possession of a changeling named Marth. We know that it can read certain codes in Ashrem d’Cannith’s journals, but we don’t know how it works.”
Kiris’s eyes widened. “You took the lens from Marth?” she asked. “Is he still alive?”
“For now,” Seren said.
Kiris frowned. “So Dalan still seeks the Legacy,” she said. “I cannot help you, but neither will I offer you harm. You may remain here until the creatures have gone, but then you must leave and forget you saw me here.”
“Then while we wait, perhaps you could tell us what you know about this Marth person,” Eraina said. “He is responsible for the murder of Jamus Roland and likely Bishop Llaine Grove as well.”
“Llaine is dead?” Kiris said, looking up at Eraina with wide eyes. “Llaine’s self-righteousness and blind faith in those who supported the war was galling at times, but I can’t believe Marth would kill him.”
“You are gravely deluded, woman,” Eraina said.
“I saw Marth murder Jamus Roland,” Seren said. “He has been hunting us in Ashrem’s old airship, Moon.”
“You were aboard that ship on the Day of Mourning,” Eraina said. “How did you survive, and why did you allow the world to think you were dead?”
“Why should I care what the world thinks of me?” Kiris said in a hollow voice. “My life ended in every way that matters on the Day of Mourning. Ashrem is gone. My homeland is gone. My entire family perished. Together, Marth and I repaired Moon enough to limp out of Cyre. I have been here since we escaped, helping him with his work from afar.”
Eraina’s stance shifted. The change was slight, but Seren could see that the paladin now held her spear ready. Her eyes were angry, intent. “So you are his ally,” she said. “Who is he? Where is his home port? How did he gather his troops?”
“Marth is a visionary,” Kiris said after a long silence. “There is no other word for it. He is the sort that others naturally wish to follow. His followers are Cyran soldiers who were fortunate enough to be outside their homeland when Cyre was destroyed.” She closed her eyes, as if pained by the recollection. “He is a patriot and a hero, not a killer.”