The Queen of Death

28

“You re still determined to sail for Argonnessen?” Sallah said.

Kandler felt like he’d had this conversation with the lady knight a dozen times before. She already knew what his answer to this question would be, and he didn’t feel like going through it all again.

He nodded and said, “As soon as we resupply.”

The sun had set long ago, and the stars and moons shone bright and clear in the night sky. The chill wind carried the scent of the distant seas on it and swept the stench of the remains of the burnt pitch away. A distant screech from an unseen hunting bird stabbed through the roar of the airship’s ring of fire.

Esprë had the wheel now, and Xalt kept her company. The warforged and she had taken a shine to each other, and the justicar had to admit that he couldn’t have picked a better bodyguard for the girl. Without the need to eat or sleep, little could distract Xalt from his chosen duties.

Burch and Monja huddled near the hatch that led to the hold. The shifter had built a small fire there, and he and the shaman sat on the edge of its heat, talking in low, friendly tones.

Sallah’s healing powers had brought the halfling back from the edge of death, and Monja had called upon her people’s spirits to heal herself nearly as good as new. Still, her fresh-knit skin shone red and smooth, like that of a sunburned baby. Despite her smile, Kandler knew she was all too aware of how close she’d come to death that afternoon.

Te’oma knelt near the fare, cooking the remains of a tribex that Burch had felled from the deck of the Phoenix just before dusk. He had spotted a herd moving along a stream in the foothills of the Endworld Mountains, and he’d ordered the ship low enough for him to kill it. The shifter had gutted and cleaned the kill before hauling the carcass back up on deck, and Te’oma then set to roasting it bit by bit.

The changeling steered clear of Kandler and Esprë most of the time. He saw her chatting with Burch and Monja every now and then. Te’oma and Burch had formed some sort of a bond during the battle against Nithkorrh, and Monja trusted Burch’s judgment completely enough to be friendly with the changeling too.

Kandler wondered if she might feel differently about Te’oma if she’d been around when the changeling had kidnapped the girl. The first time Monja had seen Te’oma had been when she’d been tossed from the captain’s quarters of another airship after Ibrido had all but killed her. The changeling couldn’t have looked less menacing at the time.

It had been Monja who’d brought Te’oma back from the brink of death. This seemed to have forged a bond between them, despite the fact that Kandler had only wanted the changeling to be healed so she could tell him where his daughter was. Once the furor had died down, Te’oma had expressed true gratitude toward Monja, and the halfling had basked in the appreciation.

Now the seven of them, this motley crew that hadn’t so much been assembled as drawn together, were about to set sail for a continent full of dragons, all of them except Sallah, who still seemed determined to leave.

“It’s madness,” Sallah said.

Her hand fell to the hilt of her sword—the one she’d taken from Brendis’s body, actually. Hers had been destroyed in the battle with Bastard back in the warforged town of Construct.

“I should just take her from you,” she said. “I could bring her back to Flamekeep myself.”

“Can you at least wait until we grab some supplies? I hate to have you lead a mutiny on an empty stomach.”

Sallah pointed at the roasting tribex. Kandler shrugged.

“It’s only mutiny if you’re the captain in the first place,” she said.

“I’m not?”

“Didn’t Burch find the ship?”

“That I did,” the shifter said as he joined the pair at the ship’s bow, “so maybe she’s mine. Unless you think we should bring her back to Majeeda.”

“She’s dead,” Sallah said as she turned and put her back on the gunwale, leaning on her elbows there.

Burch spat something over the railing. “She was dead before. We left enough of her behind. They can always bring her back.”

“That’s not the point,” Sallah said with a scowl. She glared at Burch, “Why is it? Why do you follow this man? Why is Kandler in charge?”

Kandler raised his eyebrows at his friend in mock surprise. The shifter winked at him.

“Someone has to be,” Burch said, “but no one’s in charge of me. I am my own.”

“You call him ‘boss,’ and you follow his orders.”

Burch seemed to consider this for a moment. “I listen to what he says. Don’t you?” Before Sallah could protest, he continued. “As for ‘orders,’ if what he says makes sense, I go along with it.” He shifted his gaze to Kandler now. “If not, I don’t.”

“Like telling Esprë about her father today,” the justicar said. He tried to keep the anger from his tone, but Burch knew him too well for him to hide it that well.

“Like that.”

“We lost a good dwarf today.”

“A good friend,” said Burch.

“He went willingly,” said Sallah. “We couldn’t have stopped him.’’

“If you’d kept your mouth shut, that wouldn’t have happened,” Kandler said to the shifter. “We’d have restocked our supplies and been on our way.”

“Maybe.” Burch spit on the deck this time. “Maybe not.”

“You think Majeeda and Ledenstrae would have just let us go?” Sallah asked Kandler. “Just let us sail off with our hold laden with elf goods?”

“There’d have been a fight either way,” Burch said.

Kandler cocked his head at his friend. “Are you telling me you did that to get Esprë out of there before the fight started? How could you think she’d be safer in that tower? ”

Burch shook his shaggy head. “Either way held trouble. This way, she got to see her father.”

“And that’s good?”

The shifter peered back over his shoulder at the girl. Esprë stood at the wheel, framed in the bright light of the ring of fire that encircled the ship. She laughed at something that Xalt said to her. The warforged seemed confused for a moment, then joined in.

When Burch turned back, he glanced at Sallah. “A girl should know her father.”

The lady knight nodded at that. “When else would she have ever had a chance?” she said, almost to herself.

“Esprë only knew about her father from what you and Esprina told her,” Burch said. “She had to have some doubts.”

“We told her the truth,” said Kandler.

Burch shrugged. “Some things you got to see for yourself. Stuff like, ‘Your father’s one bad elf,’ No one takes that all on faith.”

“You never knew your father,” Sallah said. “Did you?”

Burch gave her a wry grin. “It doesn’t always work out that neat, does it? He died before I was born.”

“Your father was a good man,” Kandler said to Sallah.

Grief threatened to fill her eyes, but the lady knight pushed it back. “He was a great man and a great knight.” She pursed her lips. “Not always a great father, but a great knight.”

“I still think she’d have been better off not knowing him,” Kandler said of Esprë. He wanted to deflect the conversation from talk about Deothen, both for Sallah’s sake and because he was still mad at Burch. “I’m her guardian. You shouldn’t have done that without talking with me.”

“She’s older than you.”

“You know it doesn’t work that way. She hasn’t even come of age yet.”

“Is that ever going to happen? We’re a long way from Aerenal here, and we seem to have worn out our welcome in Valenar.”

“Elf ceremonies aren’t the only way for a girl to grow up.”

“You’re missing the point, boss.” Burch shot Sallah a sarcastic look as he hit the last word. “She’s already grown. She’s figuring it out. It’s time you did too.”

Kandler felt his temper rise. He quashed the urge to punch his best friend in the snout. “Her mother just died—”

“Four years ago. That’s a lot, even for an elf.”

Kandler stopped cold. He knew Burch was right, but he couldn’t bring himself to yet admit it—at least not right now.

“Just look at her,” the justicar said. “Does she look full-grown to you?”

“She has a dragonmark. Those don’t show up in children.”

Kandler winced. “Dragons below,” he whispered. “You got me there.”

He peered past Burch at Esprë again. In the warm, flickering light from the ring of fire, she seemed as young as ever, but Kandler knew that was just an illusion. Despite the fact that she’d barely seemed any different than the day he’d met her—that she might not look much different the day he died—she was growing up.

Esprina had been dead for years. The last Kandler had seen of Ledenstrae, the elf had been lying in a pool of his own blood. Even if the healers of Aerie managed to save or resurrect him, he wouldn’t be around to help Esprë through all this. Ever.

It was Kandler’s job.