1
The Arcane Plague
I had never seen an airship up close before.
Even in the dying darkness of dawn, this airship—the Sun Chaser—was everything I had imagined and more. It had the appearance of a sailing ship, specifically a brig. Brig ships prioritized maneuverability, and while they were large, they were also long and sleek. Typically, brigs had two square masts to hold the sails, but this ship was different. Sixteen sails were positioned on the sides of the ship, jutting out like fins.
Winds whipped through the woodland trees, rustling the leaves.
The Sun Chaser flew at a slow pace, descending lower and lower, arriving with the first light of day. The oak wood used in the airship’s construction shone with an amber brown. While sailing ships were often damaged by shipworms—sea water parasites—the Sun Chaser had no rot or damage. It was more beautiful up close than from afar.
I waited for the Sun Chaser at the edge of the royal hunting grounds, just outside of the Thronehold castle. Chaos still reigned supreme inside the city as everyone scrambled to deal with the aftermath of the queen’s assassination.
The Frith Guild would help with the fallout. Master Zelfree, Hexa, Zaxis, Atty, Gillie, Guildmaster Eventide—even my adopted sister, Illia—they would all do what needed to be done, no doubt in my mind.
After a deep breath to calm myself, I removed my guild pendant and dropped it in the grass. I wasn’t one of them anymore.
I had been infected.
Not with something mundane or manageable, but with the arcane plague—a blood disease that affected only the magical. It drove mystical creatures insane within days and slowly corrupted arcanists over the course of months. Each beat of the infected person’s heart betrayed them, spreading the disease throughout their body.
Those infected turned to mayhem and evil. Their madness made even cruel suggestions seem reasonable. It warped every inch of them, and there was no known cure—at least, not yet. Once someone contracted the illness…
The legendary swashbuckler, Gregory Ruma, had thought he could bring back his dead wife with the deaths of countless others. Rylin, the griffin, had tried to consume his own son. The plague-ridden gargoyle I had fought on Calisto’s ship had tried to rip apart all life he’d come into contact with.
I carried the same disease they did.
I rubbed at my arms as goosebumps formed. If I dwelled on the situation, I’d never have the strength to solve the problem. I had to focus on the immediate—on the new day awaiting me.
“Volke, are you okay?” Fain asked.
I nodded. “As much as I can be.”
He stood close, his dark eyes narrowed in concern.
When I had first met Fain, he had been a pirate aboard the infamous Third Abyss. It amused me, that of all the people willing to stand by my side, he was one of them. He was immune to the arcane plague, however, which was the primary reason I hadn’t insisted he abandon me.
All arcanists had a mark on their forehead—a star with the picture of their bonded mystical creature, their eldrin, wrapped around the seven points. Fain’s arcanist mark had a wolf woven throughout. Well, not a wolf, but a wendigo, a mystical creature with a wolf-like body, a skull mask over its face, and large antlers. They were beasts of consumption and known as man-eaters, the one category of creature unaffected by the plague.
Wraith, Fain’s wendigo, sat at Fain’s side, his wolf-gaze locked on the descending airship. Wraith’s gray pelt swished around in the wind, but his fluffy tail remained tightly wrapped around the side of his body. He had no antlers, just nubs where they had once been.
“Do we have to board that… thing?” Wraith whispered, his voice gruff.
Fain patted Wraith behind his skull mask. “It’ll be fine.”
“I’ve never flown before. It doesn’t seem safe.”
“I haven’t heard of any airships crashing.” Fain gave me a questioning glance. “Right?”
Airships were few and far between. Of course no one had heard of them crashing—most people had never even seen one. But I didn’t want to spook him or Wraith. “I doubt it’ll crash.”
Fain stood a little straighter after my comment. His buccaneer coat fluttered in the wind, as did his dark brown hair. He kept the sides of his head shaved, which exposed his odd ears. The tips were frostbitten in appearance—black and dead-looking. So were his fingers. From what I had read, it was a side effect of bonding with a wendigo, as those wolf-like creatures stalked the snowy areas to the north, only bonding with people who were on the verge of death.
Fain kept his neck tightly wrapped in an ascot, covering the tattoo that marked him as a former pirate. When he caught me staring, he rubbed at it, as though self-conscious.
The airship didn’t land. Instead, it hovered fifty feet above the ground, the gusts intensifying with its proximity. The bottom portion of the hull had been crafted with dragon and griffin bones—giant wings and a spinal cord down the center—all imbued with roc magic.
Rocs were gigantic birds with the power over wind and weather, and I suspected the magically enhanced bones were the cause of the intense breeze and the source of the airship’s flight.
“Your assumption is correct.”
Both Fain and I flinched.
The speaker, Adelgis Venrover, stood on the other side of me, half-hidden behind a tree trunk. He wore dark robes that matched his long inky hair, and if he held still enough, I suspected he would’ve blended into the darkness. His satchel, a dark brown, was the only color on his person.
Adelgis was thinner than me and Fain—the two of us were muscled from combat training—and that only contributed to Adelgis’s minimal presence.
“The bones are imbued with roc magic,” Adelgis continued. “And they’re inside as well as outside the airship, keeping the vehicle airborne.”
I hadn’t spoken my mind, but that didn’t matter when it came to Adelgis. He heard everyone’s thoughts all the time thanks to his unusual magic. He was the only ethereal whelk arcanist I knew.
The mark on his forehead was a sea snail behind the seven-point star, the spiral shell almost eldritch in design. It was a bizarre creature that could hide itself in the light. Even now, I couldn’t see the ethereal whelk, Felicity, but I knew she was nearby. Felicity rarely left her arcanist’s side.
A rope ladder fell from the deck of the Sun Chaser. It hit the ground with a heavy thud. The bottom rungs were weighted, no doubt to keep the ladder steady despite the wind.
Once I boarded the Sun Chaser, there would be no going back. The Frith Guild would go one way, and I would go the other. Dread ate at my conviction. I walked to the rope ladder, my hands unsteady and my pulse high.
The shadows at my feet stirred.
Fain was a wendigo arcanist, and Adelgis was an ethereal whelk arcanist, but my eldrin was far different from theirs. Mine was a knightmare named Luthair—a full plate suit of armor crafted from darkness. He had no body, the armor was hollow, but he was just as alive as any other creature, even when he took the shape of a shadow at my feet. When he moved around like this, I knew he was agitated—or perhaps he could sense my apprehension.
“My arcanist,” Luthair said. “You don’t have to do this. You could return to the Frith Guild.”