“Always on the look for a quick getaway, eh?”
“Rather not see the ship pulled down with the rest of the place.”
“I meant, what is its name?” Sallah said.
Kandler noticed the airship had turned so that her prow aimed straight for a prominent terrace that jutted out from the largest of the buildings attached to the gap’s north wall.
“Durviska,” Duro said, still glaring at Burch.
“That’s Dwarven for ‘Watch that last step,’ ” the shifter said.
“It means ‘Overlook,’ flatlander!”
Burch smiled down at the dwarf, showing all of his fang-like teeth.
“Let’s get those mooring lines ready,” Kandler said to Burch. He grabbed the shifter by the shoulder and pointed him toward the stern.
Burch winked at the justicar and trotted off. Kandler glanced at Sallah, but she looked away. He shrugged and made for the line near the bow.
Kandler respected Burch’s advice. They’d only use two lines to tie off at the side of that terrace, which looked more and more like a dock as they approached it. Ropes this thick would hold the airship in place as she floated there above the Gap, but a few quick hacks with a sword would get the Phoenix moving again in a pinch.
Kandler thought of the dragonfang blade riding on his hip, the one with which Ibrido had nearly killed him. A single slice from that blade would sever the rope’s fibers like a scythe cutting hay, he guessed. He wondered what dragon had given up a tooth for the weapon or what another dragon might think to see it in a human’s hand. If his plans worked out, he’d have the chance to find out.
As the airship neared the dock, which jutted out a dozen yards from the building’s face, a squad of dwarves padded out from a wide set of doors in the middle of the place. They fanned out along the wood-railed edge and signaled their readiness to catch a mooring line and tie it fast.
Kandler spotted a sign swinging free over the place’s door. It depicted a winged dwarf diving into the open air. The words emblazoned below it in crystal letters set into the dark, weathered wood read The Flying Leap.
The justicar tossed a coil of rope to one of the waiting dwarves, and Burch did the same. Before their fellows had even moored the ship tight, the others dwarves toted out a wide, railed gangplank and tossed it out to hook onto the Phoenix’s port rail.
Duro leaped up on to the plank and sauntered down to the open dock. Sallah and Esprë stood at the railing, waiting for Kandler and Burch. Monja peered out over the wheel now, having taken it from Esprë, and Xalt stood next to her, peering down over the ship’s aft rail as if he could plumb the abyss with his unblinking ebony eyes.
“Hail and well met! ” a deep voice from inside the building boomed. A white-haired dwarf with a loose, bushy beard stomped out after it, grinning up at the newcomers. “Welcome to my hang-out!”
Duro met the dwarf at the bottom of the gangplank, and they grasped each other’s arms in greeting.
“Krangel Mrothdalt of Clan Nroth,” the elderly dwarf said. Despite his years, he seemed hale enough to take Duro in two falls out of three.
“Duro Darumnakt of Clan Drakyager. These are my friends. Treat them as you would a fellow dwarf.”
The snow-haired dwarf raised a craggy eyebrow. “Drakyager, eh? How does the dragon treat you?”
Duro beamed at his host. “Nithkorrh is no more. These folk slew the dragon, blasting his cursed corpse from the sky.”
Every dwarf on the platform—and a number more peering out at the newcomers through the windows that lined the building’s front—stared at Kandler and the others in disbelief. For a moment, Kandler feared the dwarves might pluck the gangplank from under him, just as he’d started to lead Esprë on to it. Then Krangel tossed back his head and laughed.
“Excellent!” the host said, clapping Duro on the back hard enough to make Kandler wince. “That tale alone might be enough to pay for your cots here tonight—even more if it’s true!”
Kandler sighed with relief then took Esprë by the hand and led her down to the dock. Sallah followed close on his heels, with Burch right behind.
Kandler looked back to see Xalt and Monja waving at them as they disembarked. He scanned the sky, but the changeling seemed to have disappeared. Perhaps she’d taken her leave of them, but Kandler couldn’t believe she’d go that easily. He wasn’t that lucky.
“Come in! Come in!” Krangel said. “I’ve never seen such a motley crew in such dire need of a cold ale!”
4
Te’oma spun high above the Goradra Gap, letting her wings carry her higher and higher as she circled on the warm updraft flowing up from the depths. She hadn’t felt safe sleeping in the hold with the others, so she’d curled up on the deck, her back to the ship’s console and her cloak wrapped tight around her. Although the others hadn’t said anything, she could sense their gratitude that she’d chosen to bed down away from them.
Although Te’oma had risked her life to help save Esprë, she’d been the one who put the young elf into such dangerous circumstances in the first place. Never mind the fact that she’d done so in a desperate attempt to convince the Lich Queen to bring her long-dead daughter back from Dolurrh. To these people—and to Kandler and Burch in particular—she was an irredeemable villain who could never be trusted.
In truth, this didn’t bother Te’oma much. As a changeling, she’d had few friends throughout her life, and she didn’t see the need for them. She preferred to stand on her own at all times, as life had long since taught her that relying on anyone else would only lead to disastrous disappointments.
The only person Te’oma had ever loved had been her daughter, and she’d done a poor job of caring for her. She’d left her to be raised by others, and they hadn’t protected the shapeshifting girl from the deadly fury of an angry mob.
Although Te’oma had not spent much time in her daughter’s presence, she’d established a telepathic link with the girl from the first possible moment, and she’d kept in contact with the girl every day since. No matter how far apart Te’oma’s journeys placed them, she could always reach out and converse with her daughter’s mind.
Te’oma was a thousand miles away the day her daughter died. She’d known that trouble had been brewing, but she had no way to reach the girl in time. Her daughter died with her screams echoing in Te’oma’s head.
When the first rays of the sun broke over the lowest points of the Ironroot Mountains, Te’oma had been dreaming about her daughter. She woke to find that she’d been weeping in her sleep. This sort of thing happened to her far too often these days, which was yet another reason for her to sleep away from the others.
“Are you hurt?” Esprë had said.
Te’oma had looked up to see the young elf peering at her over the bridge’s inside railing. She had known her face probably looked wet and puffy, but in a flash she’d morphed it back into its standard, unreadable state.
“Never better,” she’d said. She’d stood and let her cloak unfurl around her, the leathery edges flapping in the breeze as it spread out into wide, batlike wings.
“Wait,” Esprë had said before the changeling could flap away.
Te’oma had leaped into the air and turned about, her wings beating fast enough to keep her hovering the air before the bridge. Xalt, the warforged, had stood beside the girl, his hand on a knife tucked into his belt. Esprë had kept her hands on the wheel, keeping the airship on an even keel.
The elf-maid had stared up at the changeling for a moment then opened her mouth and said, “Thanks.”
Te’oma had nodded and flung herself high into the air. Whirling her way around the barely restrained elemental ring of fire that encircled the ship, she peeled off into the sky and let the wind carry her away.