Blood and Honor

“No,” said Decker. “Mechanical, mostly. Built it myself. I won’t enslave an elemental just so I can get around.”

Tarrel raised his eyebrows slightly. Elementals were a major source of power in Eberron, used in everything from airships to armor.

“I know what it’s like, see,” Decker went on. “During the War, I was the property of the Royal Karrnathi Navy, bought and paid for. Instead of enlistment papers, I came with a receipt. Might as well have been a capstan or a catapult. You ever talked to an elemental?”

Tarrel shook his head. It was obviously the answer Decker expected, and Tarrel could tell that the warforged was just hitting his stride.

“No, of course you haven’t,” he continued. “None of you fleshies ever do, except to give ’em orders. Well, I have. After the War, I worked for House Lyrandar for a while. They taught me Aquan so I could help with the elementals. Sometimes, when everyone was asleep, I’d talk to them. They’re smart enough to know what’s happening to them, you know, and smart enough not to have an opinion about it. I made up my mind when they gave me my freedom—I’ll never live at the expense of another thinking creature.”

“So that’s why you built this boat?” Tarrel asked.

“Mostly,” answered Decker. “It’s nearly as fast as a Lyrandar boat, too,” he added proudly.

Tarrel nodded in appreciation. “And Fang there—did you build him as well?”

“Standard pattern,” said Decker. “All I had to do was follow the instructions. I’ve got some ideas for upgrading it, though.” “It?” asked Tarrel.

“That’s right—it,” said Decker. “I know you like to call things him and her, and that’s up to you. Me, I like to keep the distinction between thinking creatures and simple machines.”

“How did you fall in with Mordan?” he asked.

Decker made the same grinding noise he had heard earlier. “Don’t ask,” he said. “All I’ll say is, I’m still regretting it.”

“So why are you carrying us now?” The pale green light in Decker’s eyes intensified slightly.

“He says you’re chasing some slavers.” Seeing the surprise on Tarrel’s face, he leaned in close to the half-elf. “Was he lying?”

“You could look at it that way,” replied Tarrel, a little nervously. “Someone’s stealing undead from the Karrnathi military and selling them …”

“As slaves,” Decker finished his sentence. “That’s what Mordan said. You’re the one he got the money from?”

“It’s my client’s money,” said Tarrel. He wasn’t at all sure where this was going. Decker leaned back against the stern-post, and Tarrel relaxed a little.

“Well, then,” said the warforged, apparently to himself. “Maybe he was telling the truth after all.”

“Where is he, by the way?” asked Tarrel, looking around. Decker made a soft grinding noise that might have been a chuckle.

“Down in the hold, with that vampire of yours,” he replied. “I told him, that’s where he’s bunking down or over the side it goes.” He gave Tarrel a significant look. “I’ve been caught looking after boxes for him before.”

Tarrel decided to steer the conversation back to safer topics. “So how does the boat work?” he asked.

Decker gave him a penetrating stare. “You got any artificer training?” he asked. Tarrel shook his head. “Then I’ll keep it simple.” Decker went on. “Basically, the whole thing’s a construct. It’s not that different from a golem, really, except it’s boat-shaped rather than shaped like you and me.”

Tarrel looked suitably impressed. “And it’s as fast as a Lyrandar elemental ship, you said?”

“Almost,” replied Decker, “and I’m working on some upgrades. That’s where the money from this trip will be going. Took a little more work than just summoning and binding an elemental of course, but I reckon it’s worth it.”

The shadows moved slightly, and both Tarrel and Decker looked up. Brey was standing beside them, looking over the starboard side of the boat with an urgent expression.

“I know this place,” she said. “We’ve got to stop.”

Chapter 11

The Mournland

Olarune 20, 999 YK

“I was here,” said Brey, once Decker had brought the boat to a stop. “I know it. See the that tree there, and the rock outcrop over to the left?”

Mordan shook his head. He couldn’t see a thing in the darkness.

“I know it,” Brey continued. “This is where I reached the river after I escaped. That means that the place where they held me”—she pointed across the river, toward the dead-gray mist of the Mournland—“is in there!”

“I’m not going in there,” said Decker, although no one was listening to him.

“Listen,” said Mordan to Brey, “I believe you. But that doesn’t mean anything. Inside that mist, everything’s different from what it was. Whole buildings—whole neighborhoods—in Metrol have been moved around, like the city was cut into pieces and shuffled. There’s no guarantee that place is still where you left it.”

“Besides.” Tarrel put in, “didn’t you say it was destroyed?”

“Yes,” said Mordan, “and even if it wasn’t destroyed when you got out, it must have been on the Day of Mourning.”

“You’re guessing,” said Brey.

“And you’re not?” asked Mordan.