The Road to Death

63

Sitting on the deck of Phoenix, Kandler couldn’t believe he was still alive. He held Esprë on his lap and kissed the back of her head, not sure he could ever bring himself to let her go. Sallah sat next to him, leaning into him. Every now and then, he heard her whisper, “Thank the Flame.”

He looked at the people arranged around him and marveled at what they’d all been through. Burch paced back and forth at the bow, scouting the sky, making sure no other threats were coming their way. It seemed unlikely, but the shifter wasn’t willing to take anything for granted.

Monja stood on the spokes of the ship’s wheel again, pushing the ship gently toward the southwest, back in the direction of her homeland. The Talenta Plains stretched out before them, holding the promise of a respite if not an actual haven. Could anything protect them from the dangers that still threatened them? Certainly not the tribes of halfling barbarians over which Monja’s father ruled—if it could be said that anyone did.

Xalt sat in front of him, fawning over Esprë. The two had formed a quick bond back in Construct when Kandler had entrusted the warforged with his daughter’s welfare. That link had been cemented when Te’oma had stabbed Xalt in the back and kidnapped the young elf once again.

Kandler guessed that Esprë enjoyed the simplicity of the warforged’s outlook. Here was a creature with little or no history, no twisting lines of family politics full of intrigue. He was about as unlike an elf as you could get.

As for Xalt, perhaps he was just interested in children, having never been one himself. Like all warforged, he had come into the world fully grown, and to discover a person who was not only a child but had been one for longer than Xalt had been alive must have piqued his curiosity to no end.

Duro prowled the deck, reflecting on moments that left him thrilled and then dour. The dwarf grieved for all the good friends he’d lost today, but the thought that he’d helped rid his ancient homeland of the creature that had plagued it for so long pleased him more than he could express. Kandler wondered what the dwarf would do now. Was there anyone waiting for him back home? Or was he now without any ties at all?

Te’oma lay sprawled on her back in the middle of the deck. She hadn’t said much of anything since she and Burch had landed on Phoenix. Kandler was grateful to her for everything she’d done—he didn’t know if they’d have prevailed without her help—but he still wasn’t sure he could trust her. She’d been a strong ally when they’d faced a common foe, but now that the dragon was dead, he couldn’t tell what she might try next.

“Where to now, boss?” Burch said as he came up behind the justicar. “Monja needs a direction.”

Kandler nodded. “Back to the Talenta Plains is fine for now,” he said. “If we can find the Wandering Inn again, we can lay in some more supplies and take a short break, get healthy before we head out again.”

“How about after that?”

That was the real question, wasn’t it? He’d not had long to think about this. Before, he’d thought maybe they’d go back to Sharn. He still had friends there, family even. In a place like the City of Towers, they could blend in, disappear, at least for a while.

He knew it wouldn’t last though. Eventually someone would find them: servants of Vol, agents of the dragon kings, even missionaries from the Undying Court.

“I’m tired,” he said, giving Esprë a squeeze, “tired of running, of hiding. It’s time we went on the offensive.”

“What do you mean?” Sallah asked, pushing herself up to sit on her own.

“These forces after Esprë, they’re never going to stop until they get their hands on her, right?”

“She could come to Thrane. She’d be welcome in Flamekeep, and the full complement of the Knights of the Silver Flame would work to protect her.”

Kandler shook his head. “That would only bring the dragons down on your heads.” He put up his hand to silence her objections. “I respect you and your friends, but can you believe they’d be able to withstand a full-out dragon assault? I’d rather not see all of Flamekeep burn on Esprë’s behalf.”

Sallah grimaced at the thought. “Where else do you suggest?” she asked. “Should we return to Mardakine? Or Metrol? Perhaps flee north across the Thunder Sea?”

Kandler shook his head. “There’s only one choice for us. We’ll find the Wandering Inn and outfit ourselves for a long voyage. Then we’ll head for Valenar.”

“The elf colony?” Esprë said. “I haven’t been there for decades. I don’t think I know anyone there any more.”

Kandler ruffled her hair. “That’s all right. That’s not our final stop.”

“Where to from there?” Te’oma asked, implying that she would accompany them wherever they might go—perhaps whether Kandler liked it or not.

“To Aerenal, of course.”

“To a whole continent full of those pointy-eared elitists?” Duro said. “Sounds like a slice of damnation.”

“That’s where the Undying Court sits,” Sallah said. “Aren’t those some of the people who would want Esprë dead?”

“Some of them, sure, but not all of them, I don’t think, not if it’s going to mean exterminating a good chunk of their population. With luck, we can get them to side with us.”

“Side with us against who, boss?”

Kandler looked up at Burch and then around into the eyes of each of the others, all of them waiting for him to speak.

“Against the dragons of Argonnessen,” he said. “They want a war, and we’re going to give it to them.”