She was glad Arach was taking precautions to ensure the Dust Dancer did not suffer a similar fate. She could only hope those aboard the Inheritance were taking comparable measures.
Once back on deck, Hotch hurried her over to where a group of dwarves stood listening to Thecla give the final instructions before takeoff.
“… and those of you assigned to protect our cargo will deploy as follows: Yven and Durgin, in the hold. Fasir and Eamon, take the foredeck. Sabira, you and Ears, here, will take the aft deck.” He looked up from his clipboard to find her in the crowd—not hard, since she stood a half a head higher than the tallest of them. “You can operate a ballista, I assume?”
“With my eyes closed and one hand fending off a drunken sailor,” she replied flippantly, which earned her some appreciative chuckles from the assembled crew. The question actually set her somewhat at ease. Sentinel Marshals were required to have at least a passing familiarity with any and all weapons they might be called upon to use during the course of their duties, and dwarven ballistae of the type used on the Dust Dancer were handcranked, something that would require both knowledge of the weapon and the strength to use it. Perhaps that was why Arach had wanted her on his ship; and not so that her connection to House Deneith might give this trip at least a veneer of legitimacy.
“Well, hopefully none of the boys will decide to make you prove that,” Thecla countered, which drew even more laughter. “All right, all right! To your stations, boys, and aweigh the anchor!”
There was a chorus of “aye aye,” and then a flurry of activity as the group of dwarves broke up and hurried off to follow the first mate’s instructions. No longer tethered to the docking tower, the Dust Dancer rose slowly into the air and was soon floating above the Kundarak enclave and the glowing yellow crystal atop the massive Bank of Kundarak, with the Tower of Kol Korran like a darker, more somber shadow behind it. As the ship turned northward and the Lyrandar pilot gradually released his hold on the bound elementals, the wonders of Stormreach faded into the distance, until all that could be seen was the Emperor’s beam of light shooting high into the sky, a shining beacon in the wilderness that was Xen’drik.
Sharn was almost fifteen hundred miles due north of Stormreach, a trip that would take three days via airship, assuming fair weather and no encounters with anything more dangerous than a flock of seagulls. Assumptions that Sabira knew were likely to prove grossly incorrect, for skies clear of cloud or creature were rare indeed on the Thunder Sea.
As if Olladra had heard her thoughts and wanted to prove the point, a shout rang out from the prow just as they were passing over Three Barrel Cove.
“Yrthak! Dead ahead!”
Sabira strained to see from her vantage point near the helm, but even if the forecastle hadn’t been blocking her view, the double rings of fire that encircled the ship made it impossible to do anything more than squint in that direction. She suddenly understood Arach’s wisdom in having as many ballistae as he did, stationed where they were.
“Where’s that damned wizard?” Thecla barked, coming up to stand by the pilot. “Get him and that horn of his over here! Now!”
Hotch appeared moments later with the wizard in tow. A warforged of indeterminate gender, the mage wore a simple white-hooded robe over its metal and wood fiber body, but its two-toed silver feet were visible beneath the hem and three-fingered hands poked out from under long, flowing sleeves. Its metal jaw worked in some arcane chant while the crystals that formed its eyes glowed orange.
“Hard to port!” Thecla ordered the Lyrandar half-elf, who complied with a small moue of concentration. As the airship came about, Sabira was at last able to see the cause of all the commotion.
A clutch of three yrthaks was attacking another airship a few miles ahead, out over the open water. As she watched, one of the yrthaks bore down on the ship, opening its improbably wide mouth. The starboard side control fin burst in a cloud of wooden debris and the airship began to list to that side. As it did so, Sabira could just make out a crest emblazoned on the side of its hull.
It was the Inheritance.
“That’s my—that’s a Sentinel Marshal ship! We’ve got to help them!”
“Ai! Quiet, quiet!” Hotch yapped, holding one clawed finger up to his snout. “Too noisy! Attract birds before wizard done with spell!”
Sabira looked over at the warforged to see it bringing a small golden horn to its lips. With an oath, she sprinted for the sterncastle, pulling her shard axe from its harness. Hotch was the only one who seemed to realize what she was up to, and he jumped in front of her, only to be backhanded out of the way without a second glance. She reached the warforged just as it was beginning to blow a silent note on the magical instrument and swung her urgrosh. The strike connected, sending the horn skittering across the wooden deck with a clatter.
Silence reigned for an instant as she darted over to retrieve the instrument, and then it sounded as if all the souls in Dolurrh had been let loose at once.
Thecla roared in fury, drawing his blade and yelling for his men to do the same. Hotch was whining and yelping at her from where he still lay on the deck, blood trickling out from a new gap in his teeth. The wizard, meanwhile, was waving its hands and shouting a new and terrible incantation.
And above it all, a voice shouting from the bow.
“Incoming!”
And then the sound of the two forward ballistae firing in quick succession, followed by a string of heartfelt and rather imaginative curses.
“Unless you want those things doing to the Dust Dancer what they just did to the Inheritance, you’d better do exactly as I say, and quickly.” As she spoke, Sabira edged closer to the wheel, the railing at her back. She held her urgrosh in one hand and dangled the horn from the other, out over the railing, where a quick toss would send it tumbling into the whitecaps far below. She knew there were at least two crossbows trained on her—maybe more—but the crew didn’t dare shoot while she held the horn that represented their only chance against the rapidly advancing yrthaks.
Thecla growled but nodded, lowering his weapon and motioning for the others to do the same. When the warforged seemed disinclined to cease his spellcasting, the first mate slapped the back of the wizard’s head with his hook, the sound of the impact ringing out across the deck like some alien bell tone.
“Cast your spell,” Sabira said, tossing the horn back to the wizard. As the warforged snatched it nimbly out of the air, Sabira dodged to the side, a crossbow bolt nearly catching her in the calf. And then she was behind the Lyrandar pilot, one forearm across his throat and the spear tip of her urgrosh held pressed up against the base of his skull.
The warforged looked from her to Thecla, who nodded again, his face red with barely contained rage. There was another incomprehensible shout from the bow, and then the wizard blew on the horn and there was nothing but silence.