Storm Dragon: The Draconic Prophecies - Book One

by James Wyatt

  Darraun reached him first, wild amazement in his eyes. He was breathing too hard to speak, and he bent over double to catch his breath before Haldren and the others reached them.

  Gaven cradled the Eye of Siberys close. Its warmth spread through him and set his dragonmark tingling.

  CHAPTER

  10

  That was quite a run,” Darraun said, trying to smile as he panted.

  Gaven ignored him, his gaze fixed on the pulsing veins of gold in the heart of the dragonshard.

  “Gaven?” No answer.

  Darraun shot a nervous glance over his shoulder at Haldren, who ran as fast as his old legs could carry him. He was still a bowshot away, though Senya and Cart were closer.

  Stepping closer to Gaven, Darraun tried to get a good look at the crystal, good enough to analyze the magic in it. “Gaven, if you’ll let me look at that …”

  Gaven turned away, shielding the dragonshard against his chest, his eyes still glued to it.

  Darraun put a hand on Gaven’s shoulder. “Gaven, look at me.” He shook him gently, then harder. Gaven pulled away but didn’t raise his eyes.

  “This is not good,” Darraun muttered. “I’m sorry about this, Gaven.” He swung his fist at Gaven’s chin as hard as he could, hoping to snap Gaven out of this trance.

  A deafening clap of thunder shattered the air, and Darraun found himself on his back two strides away from Gaven, gasping for breath. His ears rang, but he could still hear the footsteps approaching.

  Senya and Cart stopped dead near where Darraun lay. Cart fell to one knee beside him.

  “Are you injured?” the warforged asked, his voice heavy with concern. Darraun shook his head. “What did he do to you?”

  Darraun sat up. Gaven still held up the hand he had used to block Darraun’s punch, but his eyes remained focused on the dragonshard in his other hand. Senya stood behind Cart, staring at Gaven as if she were entranced. A clap of thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “I think the dragonshard is enchanting him somehow, so I tried to wrench his attention away from it. Evidently he’s got some attention to spare—enough to defend himself anyway.”

  “Evidently,” Cart said. He lifted Darraun to his feet and shifted his shield on his arm, his right hand coming to rest on the head of his axe.

  “Do we need to take him down?” Senya whispered.

  Darraun turned around just as Haldren caught up with them, breathing heavily from the exertion. “I don’t think—” he started to say, but Haldren cut him off.

  “Gaven!” Haldren stepped forward, extending a hand to Gaven. “Give me the Eye of Siberys now!”

  To Darraun’s surprise, Gaven looked up at the sorcerer, holding the dragonshard in his left hand, as far from Haldren as possible.

  “Not until you tell me exactly what is going on,” Gaven said.

  * * * * *

  Seeing the Eye of Siberys and touching it, Gaven’s mind flooded with memories. There could be no doubt that it was the dragonshard of his visions—he had seen that crystal shard carved to a point and bound to an ash-black staff to form a spear. He’d seen it plunge into the twisting shadow body of the Soul Reaver, in fulfillment of the Prophecy—

  There among the bones of Khyber the Storm Dragon drives the spear formed from Siberys’s Eye into the Soul Reaver’s heart.

  As he continued gazing into the dragonshard’s liquid depths, Gaven found himself very aware of the present. The Eye had earned its name. Staring into it was like opening a great eye onto the world. He saw Darraun approach, with the others straggling behind. He saw Darraun pulling his hand back for a punch, and it took little more than a thought for him to react, blocking the punch and knocking Darraun away, without ever looking up from the dragonshard. He saw as he had never seen before—he saw every living thing nearby, from the gibbons in the trees to the ants crawling along the ground. He saw each tree, the orchids nestled in their branches, the lianas coiled around their trunks, and the ferns shielding the earth.

  And then he saw himself, far more clearly than ever before. He remembered who he was, the man he’d been before Dreadhold, before the memories of the other came and coiled in his mind. And he saw the man he’d become, stumbling along behind Haldren’s lead in a fog of confusion or madness. He realized that he did not want to be that man any longer. It was time to confront Haldren, who had reached him and demanded the dragonshard.

  “Not until you tell me exactly what is going on.” Gaven stared into Haldren’s pale blue eyes, which were open wide in surprise.

  “Very well, Gaven,” the sorcerer said. Gaven enjoyed seeing Haldren caught off guard. “Very well. We have no secrets here. What do you want to know?”

  “You think Vaskar is the Storm Dragon of the Prophecy,” Gaven said. “You’re helping him raise the Sky Caves of Thieren Kor so that he can walk in the paths of the first ascendant and become a god. What’s in it for you?”

  “A noble enough goal in itself, don’t you think?” Haldren had recovered his wits, and his voice was smooth.

  “I don’t know about Vaskar, but most people don’t aspire to seize godhood out of a benevolent desire to make the world better,” Gaven said.

  “On the contrary, Gaven, most of us believe that the world would be a better place if we had the power to shape it according to our will.”

  “I’m sure you’d like the same power. How do you plan to get it?”

  “In exchange for my aid in acquiring divine power, Vaskar has agreed to help me acquire power that is more temporal in nature.”

  “Which throne do you plan to seize?”

  Haldren smiled. “The only throne worth holding.”

  Something gnawed at the edge of Gaven’s mind—a fragment of the Prophecy, a flash of a vision or a nightmare, but he banished it. He would not be the madman any longer. “Thronehold?” he said. “A new Galifar?” Before the Last War, all Khorvaire had been united in a single empire ruled from Thronehold. The scions of old Galifar had warred for a century over the right to sit in that throne.

  “Something like that, yes. You know that I appreciate your assistance, Gaven. I can assure you of a position of power in the new world.”

  “Why were you in Dreadhold?”

  “For no worse crime than yours,” Haldren whispered. Gaven could tell that he had struck a nerve. “I disagreed with our Queen Aurala over the way the war should be prosecuted.”

  “Sounds like you should have been stripped of your command, maybe thrown in an Aundairian jail. Why Dreadhold?”

  Haldren’s voice dropped to an urgent whisper, and he stepped closer to Gaven, speaking right into his face. “You were already imprisoned at the time, Gaven, but at the end of the war the nations decided they could put the horrors of the war behind them if they locked some people up. I was a scapegoat—they locked me up so they could believe that all the death and destruction was the work of criminals. I was fighting a war, damn it!”

  “And now you’re going to start the war all over again.”

  “It will be different this time. With Vaskar’s help—”

  Haldren reached out suddenly and tried to snatch the Eye of Siberys from Gaven’s hand, but Gaven yanked the Eye back away from Haldren, simultaneously thrusting his other hand forward. There was another thunderclap, but this time Haldren only stumbled back a few steps, while Gaven flew backward, landing hard a few paces away.

  Haldren smirked and strode to stand over Gaven. “I won’t underestimate you again, Gaven.” He crouched and took the Eye of Siberys from Gaven’s limp hand. Gaven stared wildly up at the sorcerer, every nerve in his body tingling. “I expect the same consideration in return.” He turned away, stowing the dragonshard in one of the many pouches he wore.

  Gaven sat up and glared at the sorcerer’s back, embarrassed that Haldren had gotten the shard from him so easily. Then he slowly got to his feet and looked around at the others. Senya had Haldren’s arm, apparently congratulating Haldren,
though she kept glancing back at Gaven too. Cart stood near Haldren as well, demonstrating his loyalty to his commanding officer, awaiting orders. Darraun had turned his back on the group and was looking at the surrounding jungle.

  Gaven reviewed his situation. He was stuck on an unfriendly island with a war criminal who wanted to rule the world. And who, Gaven reminded himself, was his only means of getting back to the mainland. His most likely ally was Darraun, who was clearly hiding something, maybe a great deal. The warforged was completely loyal to Haldren—Darraun had said as much, and Cart’s behavior reinforced it.

  His eyes lingered on Senya. She was still something of a mystery to him, but the prospect of unraveling that mystery was starting to grow more interesting. She glanced back at him, caught his stare, and flashed him a coy smile before looking back at Haldren.

  * * * * *

  Haldren conferred briefly with Senya, then announced his plans.

  “Tonight we’ll make camp in the jungle,” he said, “but not here. We need to get far enough from the city that the elves will leave us alone.”

  “And far enough that we won’t be bothered by treasure-seekers scouring the jungle for dragonshards,” Senya added.

  “We need supplies,” Haldren said with a glare at Darraun, “so Senya will return to the city and secure them. The rest of us can relax for a short time. As soon as Senya returns, we march.”

  With that, he settled himself onto the ground. He was still breathing heavily from his exertion, Gaven saw, which gave him a slight feeling of satisfaction. Cart stood guard by his general, and Darraun busied himself with his pack, preparing for another march. Gaven sat as far away from Haldren as he thought the sorcerer would allow—still in sight and earshot.

  He closed his eyes and imagined that he still held the Eye of Siberys, trying to remember the thoughts and feelings it had stirred in him. He’d seen the man he was before, and he clung to that memory—a sense of self that kept him in the present. But over and over he found his thoughts straying to what he had not seen: the man he could become.

  In his youth, before he’d taken and failed the Test of Siberys, he’d had a clear idea of his future, even if it was not one that he would choose. His father expected him to manifest the Mark of Storm and work for House Lyrandar. Arnoth had groomed his eldest son to take over his dynasty, ignoring every indication that Gaven would have preferred a different life.

  Failing the Test of Siberys had given Gaven an excuse to pursue something different, and Rienne had given him the opportunity. Together they explored the depths of Khyber—still working for House Lyrandar, but in a way of his own choosing. With Rienne at his side, he had never worried much about his future, as long as she was in it.

  He saw Rienne at his side in Khyber’s depths, holding a flickering torch up so he could read the words scratched into the cavern wall.

  The Eye of Siberys lifts the Sky Caves of Thieren Kor from the land of desolation under the dark of the great moon, and the Storm Dragon walks in the paths of the first of sixteen.

  He saw a great mass of stone suspended in the air, floating above a blasted wasteland. A storm churned the sky above him, and he thought he saw a dragon wheeling in the air. A flash of lightning showed him bronze scales.

  “We march, Gaven. Come!” Haldren’s barked command jerked him out of his vision, and for a moment he was in his cell in Dreadhold. Then the walls dissolved into jungle, and he scrambled to his feet.

  * * * * *

  They walked through the jungle in the cold light of the Ring of Siberys, Cart and Senya leading the way. Gaven counted his footsteps as he’d done in the exercise yard in Dreadhold, trying to keep his mind from straying. His count approached three thousand before Haldren finally called a halt and ordered Cart to pitch their tents.

  Gaven helped Cart set up the camp, partly to keep his mind off other things, and partly because he simply enjoyed the quiet company of the warforged. They built a fire, which Darraun used to cook another fine meal. Gaven realized that he hadn’t eaten since their luncheon in Whitecliff that afternoon, and just the smell of Darraun’s cooking was a delight.

  “In the morning we return to Khorvaire,” Haldren announced as they ate.

  “Where are we going next?” Gaven asked.

  “Senya and I discussed that question earlier, and I am of the opinion that Darguun is the best possible destination for tomorrow’s journey.”

  “Darguun?” Gaven asked. “The goblin lands?”

  “Indeed,” Haldren said. “Are you aware of the rebellion that carved the lands of Darguun as an independent entity?”

  “I knew of the rebellion, yes. But I assumed that those lands were destroyed along with the rest of Cyre.”

  “They were not. And the goblin leader, Haruuc, was recognized as ruler of a sovereign nation in the treaties that ended the war. It remains something of a frontier land, though, which is why it suits our purposes. We should be able to do business there without interference from the dragonmarked houses and their agents, who are presumably still searching for us across the length and breadth of Khorvaire.”

  “Darguun it is, then,” Gaven said.

  Haldren scowled at him. “I am glad you approve. And now we are going to bed.” He got to his feet and extended a hand to Senya. “I suggest you all do the same—it has been a very long day.”

  Senya took his hand and kissed it. “I’ll be there in a moment,” she said, indicating the remainder of her meal. Haldren’s scowl deepened, and he disappeared into his tent. Darraun took his pots over to a nearby stream to clean them, and Cart started patrolling a wide circle around the campsite. Gaven supposed he’d do that all night.

  With a glance at the tent where Haldren waited for her, Senya set down her platter of food and reached for a large bundle beside her. Gaven watched as she pulled out a greatsword in a fine leather sheath and brought it over to him.

  “I picked this up in the city,” she said with a smile. “I thought you’d like to be armed before we get into another fight.”

  “Thank you, Senya,” Gaven said. “That was very thoughtful.” He pulled the blade a little way out of the sheath and admired the fine edge and elegant scrollwork. The pommel bore a skull decoration, which seemed fitting—given both the elves’ preoccupation with death and the purpose of any weapon.

  Senya stared into the dying fire. “I’m still a little confused about what happened back there,” she said, pointing over her shoulder toward Shae Mordai. “Have you really been here before?”

  “I think your ancestor mistook me for someone else.”

  “That hardly seems likely, does it? We go to them for their wisdom.”

  Gaven shrugged.

  “Do you think Vaskar is really the Storm Dragon, Gaven?”

  Gaven looked at her, and she turned from the fire to meet his eyes.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I think I’ve seen him in my dreams, the color of his scales.” The color of his scales—that thought sparked something in his mind. The Bronze Serpent …

  He shook his head. Here and now, he told himself. Stop living in dreams and memories.

  “I thought he was at first,” Senya said, “but I don’t think so any more.” She looked back into the fire.

  “You think this is all a fool’s errand?” Gaven said. “Then why go along with it?”

  “Well, even if Vaskar fails, Haldren still has a chance at getting what he needs. And besides,” she said, “I didn’t say it was a fool’s errand.” She looked at him sidelong. “Want to know what I think?”

  “What do you think, Senya?”

  Haldren bellowed from inside the tent. “Senya!”

  She leaped to her feet but stopped to look down at Gaven again. “I think the Storm Dragon is you.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  When Darraun returned from the stream, he found Gaven staring into the embers of the fire. He saw Cart walking his tireless circle outside the camp, and waved to him as he came near. He san
k down on the fallen log beside Gaven.

  “Quite a day,” he said.

  Gaven made a sound a little like a laugh and nodded.

  “This time last night I was landing a wyvern on top of Dreadhold.”

  “How did you end up a part of all this, Darraun?”

  “Haldren figured the group needed someone with my skill set, to work on Dreadhold’s defenses. And help keep everyone alive, I suppose. He planned the whole thing from his cell, you know.”

  “How did he do that? We were kept in the Spellward Tower—he couldn’t use any magic there.”

  “Not in his cell, no. Except the magic of his tongue. You’ve probably noticed by now that he could talk a sphinx into answering its own riddle for him. So partly he persuaded the guards to help him out. And he also used some magic to talk to Vaskar, when he was out of his cell for exercise and such. Again, he talked his way out of the usual restraints and the constant supervision.”

  Gaven shook his head. “So he told Cart and Senya to find an artificer, and they got you?”

  “Senya talked to people in Aundair who were loyal to Haldren, and my name came up.”

  Gaven turned to look at him—a little too closely, Darraun thought. “You made sure your name would come up,” Gaven said.

  Darraun let a trace of a smile show on his face. “What do you mean?” he said.

  Gaven shrugged. “So are you a true believer in Haldren’s cause? Anxious to see him sitting on the throne of a new Galifar? Or are you just along for the ride?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Something like which one?”

  “What were we talking about?”

  Gaven arched an eyebrow at him and stopped asking questions.

  “So,” Darraun said, “now that you know all about Haldren’s plans, what are you going to do?”

  “Do?” Gaven scratched his chin. “At this point, it seems I’m along for the ride whether I like it or not.”