But Vennet’s blows were frenzied too. His heavy, chopping attacks had no grace or dexterity, but they had the strength of madness behind them. Vennet threw himself into the fight with ferocity. Spittle ran from the corner of his mouth and streaked across his cheek. He swung his cutlass hard, aiming for Singe’s blind side, and Singe had to turn and turn again to escape him. He got his left side against the rail for protection, but Vennet had the better of him now. The ship’s wheel forgotten, the half-elf forced him step by step up the sloping deck toward the bow.
A roar broke out somewhere below them, so loud and angry that both men glanced over the side for an instant, swords still crossed. Singe was shocked to see how high the airship had flown. The sweep of the Shadow Marches lay spread out before them.
Dah’mir had finally noticed their uncontrolled ascent, however. Wings straining, acid-green eyes bright in the gathering dusk, he climbed after them. “Vennet! Bring the ship down!”
Singe swung back to Vennet, ready for a renewed attack-and froze. The other man was staring past him with a look of alarm replacing the rage on his face. Singe twisted, looking over his shoulder to see what he was staring at.
The kalashtar had come onto the deck. They stood before the hatch that led below, eerily silent. Their stares, though still blank, were no longer turned toward Dah’mir. Instead, they turned to the young kalashtar who stood at their head. Moon-or Virikhad. Pinprick eyes met Singe’s.
“What are they doing here?” Vennet choked. His free hand grabbed for Singe’s arm. “What have you done?”
Silver-white light flared near the stern. Both Singe and Vennet turned toward it and Singe’s hollow gut wrenched. Before the airship’s helm stood Medala, gaunter than ever, her gray hair wilder. Her pupils were the same pinpricks of black as Moon’s.
He and Dandra might have guessed that she was still alive, but actually seeing Medala again was like a blow. Fear burst inside Singe, and he acted on reflex, flinging out a hand and shouting a word of magic. Flames leaped from his hand in a searing blast.
Medala simply winked out in another silver-white flash. The magical fire washed over the helm and the wood of the wheel flared and burned, charring away in a heartbeat-
Singe’s already knotted stomach seemed ready to turn into a heavy stone. Vennet let out a wail and rushed for the burning, useless wheel. A shudder ran through the ship. The great elemental ring flared with new intensity, and they began to climb even more quickly.
In the same instant, Medala reappeared with another flash to stand before Moon. Ignoring everything happening around them, the two kalashtar looked at each other.
“You did well,” Medala said.
“Dah’mir succeeded in Sharn,” Virikhad said with Moon’s voice. “And here?”
Medala’s face twisted. “There are complications. We must hurry.” She held out her hand.
Moon’s rose to meet it, and when their fingers touched, it seemed as if a silver-white spark leaped between them as a strange crystalline ringing shimmered on the air. A moan like someone waking in great pain escaped Moon’s lips and he went limp. Medala released his fingers and let him fall to the deck, then drew a deep breath. “Together,” she said, and it seemed to Singe that he heard two voices emerge from her mouth.
Then she-and Singe and Vennet-whirled as Dah’mir came rushing up past the side of the ship. The sound of the dragon’s wings was like the clap of thunder. His eyes burned.
Even as his legs folded under him, some part of Singe’s mind wondered if any other living soul had ever seen such a look of utter surprise on the face of a dragon. Dah’mir stared at Medala with wide eyes and an open mouth. Medala gave him a grim smile. “Too late, Dah’mir,” she said.
The light that burst around her was blinding. Singe flung up an arm to shield his eyes, but the brightness faded in an instant-and Medala and the kalashtar were gone with it. Only Moon remained, sprawled on the deck.
Dah’mir’s roar shook the ship. His forelegs crashed down, hooking over the rails, and the entire vessel listed and sank as his weight hung from her. His great head thrust at Singe. “Where has she gone?” he demanded. Fetid breath stinking of blood and acid choked Singe. His ears felt like they would burst from the dragon’s shout. He couldn’t have answered if he’d known, but Dah’mir’s eyes narrowed and something flashed in his eyes. “By the progenitors,” he hissed.
He kicked away with such force that timbers cracked and the airship shot sideways at the same time that she bounced upright and began to climb again. Singe clung to the ship’s rail to avoid being thrown across the deck. Roaring his anger, Dah’mir arced away from the ship, folding his wings and plummeting back toward the battlefield. His wings snapped open at the last moment to slow his dive and Singe saw him thrust his forelegs out. Sparks of red flashed from the Eberron dragonshards embedded there.
Tangled blue arcs of lightning leaped from his claws to rake the twilight battlefield. Against the searing flash, Singe saw the dark clusters that were orc warriors scatter into specks. As they scattered, Dah’mir’s form shrank as he transformed into a heron once more. From so great a height, the black bird might have vanished into the shadows of gathering night-but Singe could guess where Dah’mir had gone.
The flaring arcs of lightning had pointed the way to the dark mouth of the tunnel that pierced the Bonetree mound.
“Master! Master!” Vennet was at the rail, shaking with impotent rage. “Dah’mir, help me!”
The crackling of the fiery ring around the ship was like a song of freedom, as if the elemental bound within it knew that it could no longer be controlled. Singe’s arms and legs felt stiff as wood, but he turned his head to look up at the sky and wondered just how high they might go.
Then the air nearby shimmered, parted, and Dandra stepped out.
Singe couldn’t think of when he’d ever seen anyone look so beautiful. Her red-brown skin glowed under the light of the ring and in the sunlight that still reached over the rim of the world below. Her hair flowed in the wind of the ship’s passage like a cascade of black water. Her dark eyes flashed, and her jaw was set with fiery determination. For an instant, he thought she had to be some kind of dream, but then Vennet let out a gasp and stared at her too.
Dandra ignored the half-elf. Her feet pushed off from the deck, and she skimmed through the air to Singe’s side. He saw her face tighten with anguish at the sight of his injured face, but she didn’t pause or hesitate. “Can you stand?” she asked, offering him her hand.
He took it, but the only word that he could force out of his mouth was “How?” She’d used the long step to reach him, but he knew her mastery of the power wasn’t enough to let her travel far.
She pointed in answer, and Singe’s jaw dropped.
The circling of Mayret’s Envy had brought the southern sky into view. Against the glow of the Ring of Siberys, another airship stood out a short distance away, encircled with a ring of streaming cloud instead of fire and racing to keep up with the out of control ship.
“Twelve moons!” he gasped. “Where did you get-?”
“Biish’s second target!” Dandra said as she hauled Singe to his feet. “A second airship to steal if he couldn’t get the first one for Dah’mir. Are the captive kalashtar still on board?”
“No, only Moon. Medala-”
Dandra took his chin in her hand and turned his face to hers. Kesh opened between them. Show me, said Dandra.
It took only a moment for him to show her what he had seen and heard. Her eyes hardened. “Light of il-Yannah.” Her arm wrapped around his shoulders and drew him close. “Hold tight. We’re leaving.”
The invisible pressure of vayhatana wrapped around him before he could even blink. Over Dandra’s shoulder, he saw Moon’s body rise and move closer, also caught by the force of her will.