Zach Brenner's Arc

Chapter 75 of 86

The mages worked as one force now, but a united army meant nothing without a target. Zach stood on Garrok's wall and stared north. The Dead River ran for miles. The fog was born somewhere along it, but no one knew where. He could not send a hundred mages down a river blind. Ayla joined him at the wall, her silver staff catching the morning light. "We have to find the mouth," she said. "Before we march." Zach thought of the airship that had carried them here so many times, the sleek brass vessel with its graceful fins. Then it clicked. "We don't search on foot," he said. "We search from the sky." He turned to the yard below. "Talon!" Talon looked up from sharpening a katana. Raven's brother had guided this group through every trap in the north for seven years. He read the land better than any map. "You want the ship," Talon said. It wasn't a question. "Three ships," Zach said. "We split the river into thirds. One flies the south stretch. One flies the north. One takes the middle. We surround it. We corner the source like cats circling a mouse until it has nowhere to hide." Garrok grunted his approval, axe on his shoulder. "Fairhaven owes us hulls. They'll fly." By noon three airships lifted from the mountain fort. Zach took the middle vessel with Raven and Lyra. Talon flew the north. Ayla took the south, a white mage at each rail to spot the fog by daylight. They flew low over the black water. Raven leaned over the rail, cat ears pinned back against the wind. "There," she called. "The water changes color." Below them the river ran gray, then darkened to oil. Lyra pressed her hands to the deck. "I feel it," she said. "Cold under the surface. It's thickest ahead." She pointed to a bend where the banks pinched narrow. Zach signaled the other ships with a flare. The north vessel and the south vessel closed in, tightening the ring. All three hovered over the same bend. There the river split around a dead island of black stone. Fog seeped up from a crack in the middle of the island, thin as smoke, curling toward the villages beyond. "That's the mouth," Ayla shouted across the gap. "That's where it's born." Zach gripped the rail. For weeks they had chased the fog blind, one town at a time. Now he could see its heart. He marked the island on the map and looked at the narrow banks around it, the only ground firm enough to land a hundred mages. "We have our route," he said. "And our target." Then the fog on the island stirred. It rose faster, thickening, as if it had noticed the ships above. Lyra's hands went white on the deck. "It knows we found it," she said. "And it's growing."