by James Wyatt
There was another, no less disturbing consequence of being back with Gaven. He was wearing Darraun’s face again, and he found his thoughts running along familiar channels—scheming, suspicious, convoluted. As Darraun, he was a spy again. He had tried to leave that person behind in the Labyrinth, but he’d slipped back into that mode in order to placate Gaven, to present a familiar face. He didn’t like that familiar face.
That, at least, was a problem with an easy solution. As he walked behind Gaven, he changed again, taking the tall, warm, proud and noble form he’d created for Aunn. When Gaven indicated that Cart should be just over the next rise, Aunn put a hand on Gaven’s shoulder.
“Gaven?” he said.
Gaven turned around and started with surprise at the man before him. “What’s this?”
“My name is Aunn. That’s my real name.” He swallowed, waiting for a reaction that didn’t come. “That’s who I want to be.”
Gaven looked at him for a long time. “Aunn it is,” he said. “I’m pleased to meet you.” He turned with a smile and crested the rise.
“Gaven!” Cart’s voice sent a thrill of anxiety through Aunn’s body. “Where have you been?”
“Look who I found.” Gaven turned and took Aunn’s elbow. “Aunn, I believe you know Cart, and this is Ashara d’Cannith. This is Aunn. Cart, you know him as Darraun.”
“Darraun,” Cart said. His voice carried a hint of amusement. “So who did we bury?”
“I found a corpse that bore some resemblance to Darraun’s face, and did my best to disguise it. I’m sorry.”
Cart laughed. “I told you, Gaven, didn’t I?”
“You did.” Gaven didn’t share Cart’s amusement.
“No matter, Darraun. Or Aunn. I’m glad to see you alive.”
“And I’m glad you’re not me,” Ashara added, stepping forward to clasp his hand in greeting.
Aunn didn’t understand the joke, but it made Gaven laugh at last.
To Gaven, the appearance of the storm above the Dragon Forge had seemed like a sign calling him back to destroy the eldritch machine that had stolen his mark. Knowing that the storm had been a weapon sent to devastate the Eldeen Reaches revolted him, and he felt responsible for the use of his dragonmark. Aunn’s return and Kelas’s death reinforced that message, and Aunn’s concerns about the Keeper of Secrets, the chance the imprisoned fiend might escape, solidified it. He still burned to find Rienne, but the Dragon Forge seemed like a more imminent concern—even discounting the possibility of reclaiming his mark.
“Malathar is my greatest concern,” Cart said, staring into their campfire.
“Malathar?” Aunn asked.
“The dragon-king from Argonnessen,” Gaven explained. “He’s ancient, mighty—”
“Undead,” Cart added.
Aunn raised an eyebrow. “Well, to our advantage, we know what we’re up against. There are preparations we can make, protective wards and enhancements to our weapons.”
“His breath is devastating,” Gaven said.
“I think I’m up to the challenge,” Aunn replied, and somehow he bolstered Gaven’s confidence.
“I hope you don’t overestimate your skill,” Ashara said. She had a hand at her chin, half-covering a bemused smile. “You are talking about significant infusions of power.”
“I apologize, Lady Cannith,” Aunn said. “I certainly didn’t mean to discount your own skill at artifice. Between the two of us—”
“Do you know the ninth weaving of Merrix the First?”
Aunn’s eyes showed no recognition, and Gaven’s confidence faltered. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with House Cannith’s terminology—”
“Where were you trained?”
“I had a private tutor. I figured a lot out on my own.”
“You figured it out on your own,” Ashara repeated. “How can you hope to understand the weavings of artifice figuring it out on your own?”
“It’s simply a matter of untangling the knots, Lady. I find it quite intuitive.”
“I require a demonstration.”
Gaven frowned at her. Ashara was always kind and mild with Cart, but her manner with Gaven, and now with Aunn, could be curt. Imperious—given her position in the House, she was used to issuing commands and having them obeyed. She had to remember that she was not in charge of this group, he thought.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Gaven said. “I’ve seen Aunn do—”
Aunn interrupted. “It’s all right, Gaven. I’ll give a demonstration.” He made a small bow toward Ashara. “Would you care to name the task?”
“Cart, would you let Aunn borrow your axe, please?”
Cart hefted his axe and passed it to Aunn, who looked at Ashara expectantly.
“Do your best,” she said. “Prepare it for the battle ahead.”
Aunn closed his eyes and placed his hand flat on the blade. A smile danced at the corner of his mouth. Gaven watched him carefully but couldn’t make sense of what he was doing. He ran a finger down the edge, ran his hand down the haft, traced twisting runes on the head with two fingertips. After a long moment, he opened his eyes, let out his breath, and handed the axe to Ashara.
As soon as her hand touched the weapon, Ashara’s eyes shot open wide. She examined the axe for only a few heartbeats, then handed it back to Cart.
“This will serve you well,” she said. Turning her eyes back to Aunn, she returned his bow. “Your skill is at least the equal of mine. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
Now it was Aunn’s turn to look surprised. “That is high praise.”
“Yes, it is. Now let’s get to work on the rest of our preparations.”
Gaven’s sword was next, and when Aunn handed it back he could feel it sing in his hand, longing for the battle ahead. While Aunn worked on the sword, Ashara handled Aunn’s mace, and then she put her hands on Gaven’s back, weaving magic into his armor.
An ache fell on Gaven’s heart, thinking of Rienne’s hand on his back, the touch that always calmed and soothed him. Where was she? Then he thought of her bitter words on the Sea Tiger: “I’ll cover your back. I hope you can spare a thought to cover mine.” Did she still hold that bitterness in her heart? Did she think he’d simply abandoned her in Rav Magar, forgetting to cover her back once again? Facing Malathar would have been so much easier, he realized, with Rienne fighting beside him.
On Jordhan’s ship, they had talked about the Prophecy, about the Time Between that was just beginning. Now it appeared the Time Between had reached its end. The fleeting time it took for the hourglass of history to reverse itself was over, or would soon be. The Time of the Dragon Below was beginning, and he had no more insight into what the future held than he had on the Sea Tiger. The Blasphemer’s legions … Who was the Blasphemer? Malathar?
Gaven stared at the ground between his feet as Ashara finished her work.
I’m lost without you, Ree, he thought.
Then the preparations were complete, and Gaven led the way back to the Dragon Forge.
The dragon and the soldiers who had fenced them into the worgs’ temple hadn’t returned, so they approached the forge the same way Gaven, Cart, and Ashara had fled it. They squeezed between the rock and the blue crystal, and worked their way slowly through the tunnel.
You walk boldly to your doom.
It was the merest whisper at the back of Gaven’s mind, but he felt it gnaw at his resolve like a rat. Darkness stalked through the crystal, shadowing his movements.
You think to stand before a power that was already great when Karrn the Conqueror took his first infant steps.
The Keeper of Secrets, that darkness was called, and the Messenger strained to keep it bound. Gaven tried to feel the presence of the Messenger, some shred of good or hope left in the crystal, but he felt only the hatred of the other.
Malathar the Damned will consume your body and annihilate your soul.
Gaven looked back at Ashara and Aunn and saw a grimness on each of their faces
. Cart’s steps were heavy and his head hung low. All of them heard the Keeper of Secrets. All of them were wrestling with doubt and despair.
“It lies,” Gaven said. His voice sounded muffled in his own ears, as though he were calling to his companions through a thick fog. They looked up at him as though lost in that same fog, their eyes distant and distracted.
“It lies,” he repeated. “Truth would burn its tongue. It’s the Keeper of Secrets.”
Aunn murmured something, perhaps a vague echo of the warning he’d repeated several times in their camp.
“It’s trying to sow despair,” Cart said.
“It’s very good at it,” Ashara said.
“Fight it! It speaks nothing but lies.”
Gaven pressed forward, trusting the others to follow. If they could just escape the tunnel, he felt sure, the despair would ease.
You were the Storm Dragon. You bore the touch of Siberys. Now what are you? Nothing. Just another would-be hero marching to certain death.
I was the Storm Dragon, Gaven thought. Is it possible that I’m not anymore? Was my destiny stripped from me as well? Your destiny is to die in Malathar’s claws. I am player and playwright. I will decide my own destiny.
Malathar will decide, and you will die.
CHAPTER
44
Gaven’s voice sounded faint against the fog in Aunn’s mind, as he called back some warning over his shoulder. Another voice was trying to drown Gaven’s out—the harsh whisper of the evil held within the crystal. It grated against his ears but didn’t break through into his consciousness.
All he heard was a velvet hush of words, soft and quiet and yet still more powerful than either Gaven’s shout or the Secret Keeper’s rasp.
He will soon be free. You must stop him.
“How can I stop him?” Aunn murmured.
Be not afraid. I will be with you.
Gaven plunged ahead through the tunnel, and Aunn followed as fast as he could. It felt like walking through water—the air was thick with the warring energies of the two spirits. He closed his eyes, and he saw himself in a raging torrent, power churning out toward the Dragon Forge, splashing and foaming against rocks that strained feebly to hold it back. The end of the tunnel came into view, visible to Aunn’s senses as a lattice spidering out from a central point, where a blade, radiant with powerful magic, was thrust into the stone. Coiled around the blade was a shining silver corona. Aunn opened his eyes with a start. Distorted through the crystal, he could just make out the silver torc he’d taken from Dania’s body.
Gaven squeezed and stumbled out of the tunnel and down the short jump to the canyon floor, and Aunn followed. He had expected his mind and his ears to clear once he left the tunnel, but the steam and flames of the Dragon Forge just added a sinister drone to the cacophony. He turned back to the crystal as Ashara, already through the gap, helped Cart squeeze out, and he closed his eyes again to see the intricate weave of magic that fueled the Dragon Forge.
Ashara and then Cart dropped to the ground beside him, and he turned to Ashara.
“It’s incredible,” he breathed. “I’ve never seen anything—”
Cart cut him off. “On your guard!”
Aunn whirled. A sudden wind kicked dust and gravel up into the air as a huge shadow fell across the canyon. He looked up, and laid eyes for the first time on Malathar the Damned.
“Into the Forge!” Gaven shouted. He ran without glancing back at the others, but then Rienne’s voice rang in his mind again. “I hope you can spare a thought to cover mine.” He turned his head to look over his shoulder as he ran.
Cart and Ashara were right behind him, but Aunn seemed paralyzed, his gaze fixed on the dragon-king. “Aunn!” he called, but the changeling didn’t move.
“Go,” he told Cart as the warforged drew near, then he turned and ran back to Aunn. There was a memory, distant and vague—
He stood in his shattered cell in Dreadhold, staring bewildered at Cart while Darraun spoke encouraging words and Haldren shouted overhead.
But Aunn didn’t look bewildered. His mace was in his hand, and he stood at the ready. He looked intent, focused, and determined.
Black flame roared over them both as Gaven reached Aunn’s side. Gaven roared and tumbled to the ground, reacting to the pain before he realized how well his newly enchanted armor had protected him, its warding magic extending even beyond the reach of its metal. The pain was not so bad, and his strength held up against the necromantic energy of the dragon-king’s fire.
Aunn shimmered with silver as the black flame rolled off him like water and drained into the ground. He raised his mace to Malathar, a challenge or a salute, as the dragon-king wheeled in the air overhead.
“Aunn, come on!” Gaven seized the changeling’s wrist and started to pull him toward the forge, but Aunn wrenched his wrist away.
“Why flee?” he said. “Didn’t we come here for this?”
“I came here to get my dragonmark back and destroy that forge. Then I’ll face Malathar.”
“Go, then. I’ll cover your back.”
Gaven paused for just an instant, Rienne’s words haunting him again, then he turned back to the forge and ran after Cart and Ashara. He saw Cart swinging his axe just inside the entrance to the iron building and hurried to join the battle.
With a rattle of dry bones and a rustle of leathery skin, Malathar landed before him. Dust billowed in a cloud around the undead dragon, stinging Gaven’s eyes and biting his exposed skin. Even with all four feet on the ground and his body crouching low to the ground, Malathar seemed huge—the dragon-king’s breastbone was at his eye level, his back out of reach, and his bony wings stretched far overhead.
“You have proven nuisance enough, meat,” Malathar whispered.
Gaven checked his headlong rush and clutched his sword, circling more carefully around the enormous dragon’s side. He spoke an arcane word and his body erupted in protective cold fire. “Let me show you what a nuisance I can be,” he growled as he lunged forward.
His sword clattered against a bone, then Malathar’s violet eyes appeared in front of him, blazing into his own. A deathly chill started behind his eyes and spread down his spine, numbing his limbs and freezing him in place. With a whispering hiss, the dragon-king’s head snaked up on his long neck, then shot forward, jaws wide. Gaven was powerless to dodge—he could only watch the swordlike teeth coming at him.
Aunn’s body slammed into his, knocking him aside, and the changeling’s mace smashed up into Malathar’s jaw. The weapon burst in a flash of white light and knocked the dragon’s head backward. Aunn landed on top of Gaven, shouting in pain from the icy cold of Gaven’s protective fire. He rolled quickly aside, dodging a blind rake of Malathar’s claw. The chill was slow to ebb from Gaven’s limbs, but he managed to scramble to his feet and stagger a few steps away.
“Go!” Aunn shouted.
Gaven stumbled into a run, then he was beside Cart. He swung his sword wildly, beating back the soldiers who tried to defend the Dragon Forge. The soldiers fell back in the face of their combined fury and he saw the dragonshard in its setting. Another sprint and he would be there.
For just an instant his heart sang—he thought he felt the wind at his back lifting him and speeding his run. But then a rush of fire followed the gust of air, engulfing him again in Malathar’s flaming breath. The cold fire melted off him, his armor drew the flames away, but there was still heat to spare, searing his flesh. Even as fire licked at him, the cold essence of death sank into his bones, sapping his strength. He bent double, stumbling in his run.
It had been a deadly blast, and Gaven feared for his friends. Cart stood firm against the dragon-king, his axe flashing white against the violet shimmer that limned Malathar’s rune-scribed bones. Ashara stood behind him, a hand on his back, reinforcing his defenses and healing his wounds. Aunn—where was Aunn?
There! Crumpled in a heap on the iron floor, as though the dragon-king had hurled him against the D
ragon Forge and left him where he fell. Forgetting the dragonshard, Gaven started toward the changeling’s side.
Aunn lifted his head and saw Gaven approaching. “No,” he called. “I’m all right. Just get the damned dragonshard!”
Aunn didn’t look all right. His arm was pinned beneath his body at what must have been a painful angle, and his other arm clutched his belly. But he was right—he could do more to help himself than Gaven could. Gaven turned again and ran to the dragonshard.
Malathar snaked in after him, ignoring Cart’s furious blows at his side. “That no longer belongs to you,” he said. “It won’t help you.”
Gaven knew better. Despite his words, the dragon-king was proving himself desperate to keep Gaven from his goal. Three more steps and Gaven’s hand clutched the smooth stone.
It was still his, there could be no question. The dragonshard sprang to life at his touch. A crash of thunder shook the walls and the ground. Gaven felt a tingling surge starting in the shard, then building in his feet, then pulsing throughout his body. The skin of his neck and shoulder burned. With a snarl of rage and effort, he lifted his free hand to point at Malathar. Arcs of lightning danced between his arm and the metal floor, then a tremendous discharge linked him to the dragon-king. He roared with the thunder and saw Malathar’s mouth open wide in voiceless pain. He threw his head back with the lightning and saw Malathar’s head twisting back on his long neck. Suspended in that instant, they were united in the lightning flowing between them.
Joy flowed through Gaven’s body with the lightning. I am the—
Gaven’s hand slipped from the shard and the lightning died with a final snap that threw Gaven backward. He collapsed on the iron floor, and a dead silence fell around him. He looked around in a daze. Aunn was on his feet, smashing his mace over and over against the bones of Malathar’s shoulders and ribs, sometimes his jaw. Cart was on the dragon-king’s other side, his axe a blur of motion. Malathar was clearly on the defensive, but he was still a terror of gnashing teeth and raking claws. Even his tail swept around him, slashing at his foes. It was all happening in utter silence.
